A Suicide Mission
by XCountrySkiier03
Summary: It's 6th year and Draco has been tasked with assassinating Dumbledore but he doesn't want to be a Death Eater and he doesn't want to kill the headmaster. With Voldemort threatening to murder his family, he doesn't have many choices. Backed into a corner, Draco chooses the only alternative solution he can think of. Eventually Harry x Draco
1. Chapter 1

**A Suicide Mission**

HBP era.

Draco has been tasked with assassinating Dumbledore but he doesn't want to be a Death Eater and he doesn't want to murder anyone. Hell, he'd call the whole thing off if Voldemort weren't threatening to kill his family. Backed into a corner, Draco can only think of one way to keep both his parents and the Headmaster alive. In order to keep Voldemort from using him as a tool in his sick regime, he's going to have to take himself out of the equation. In other words, he's going to have to kill himself.

_Harry x Draco_

_**Warning: Dark themes**_

* * *

_Chapter 1 - Sectumsempra_

* * *

Draco Malfoy's hurried footsteps echoed down the empty stone corridor.

He glanced over his shoulder as he moved through the dim lighting, paranoid the reverberating steps were not his own. Had Pansy or Blaise followed him from the Slytherin common room? They'd been desperate to figure out what he'd been up to all term. Or perhaps it was Filch's footfalls mixing in with his own. That scraggly old squib would love catching him out of the dormitories this close to after hours, wouldn't he?

It could be even worse than Filch, though. It could be _Potter._

The tatty haired Gryffindor's tailing presence had not gone unnoticed by the Slytherin and it was beginning to grate on his very last nerve.

Stupid Potter. Always sticking his nose in places where it didn't belong.

"Lumos,"

Draco could see the tapestry fast approaching. The pink-clad trolls stirred in their sleep and Barnabas the Barmy cursed at him eloquently as the wand light illuminated his portrait, but Draco ignored him, peering fretfully down the corridor instead.

There was no one following him. He was completely alone.

His shoulders rose with a deep, steadying breath and he turned his attention to the wall.

"Tonight. Tonight I'll finish it," He whispered, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the blank space had morphed at his command. An age-worn mahogany door with brass handles and iron hinges now stood before him. He set his jaw and strode forward, letting himself deftly into the Room of Requirement.

The winding labyrinth of discarded objects and hidden treasures greeted him as he shut the door softly. The mass of things had been overwhelming at first, but his route was well memorized by this time. He stepped carefully into the maze.

Continue straight at the empty pixie cage, on past the blood-stained ax. A right turn at the enormous stuffed troll and _there_. Draco came to a stop, breath quickening as the Vanishing Cabinet loomed into sight. It was taller than him by several heads, and smooth with black venire and silver knobs.

Draco approached it cautiously as if a sudden movement might startle the thing into fleeing. He swallowed thickly against a too-dry throat.

How many weeks had he been tinkering about with this cabinet? Far too many for his liking, and far more than he'd ever intended.

His hourglass was quickly emptying.

He stared up at the Vanishing Cabinet blankly, remembering when the Dark Lord had first given him this task. It had been during summer break in Wiltshire. Voldemort had sought him at the manor for a private conversation. It had been terrifying. The sharp, hissing words still haunted him.

_"Kill Albus Dumbledore,"_ Voldemort had said, circling him like a vulture, _"The Malfoy's have served me faithfully for years. Yes, your father has disappointed me, but I know you can right his wrongs. I_ _will reward you and your family greatly if you succeed. If you complete this mission, Draco, I will reward you with...forgiveness,"_

Voldemort had reached out and stroked Draco's face as he purred that final word. Goose flesh rose on his arms as he recalled the sickly feel of those bone-thin fingers tracing his jaw.

Of course he'd accepted the mission. That same night was when he'd taken the mark as well, branded just like his father. He had looked down at the skull and snake inked into his arm and swelled with determination and resolve. He'd been too distracted, too _stupid,_ to notice the terrified look on his mother's face. She'd known all along what the Dark Lord was playing at.

This was not a chance at redemption.

Lucious's mistake in the Department of Mystery had enraged the Dark Lord. And this? This was revenge. A manipulative game. This was the Malfoy punishment.

He reached out a trembling hand to fumble the latch of the broken cabinet.

His situation was futile. How was he, Draco, a 16-year-old newly instated Death Eater, supposed to kill the headmaster of Hogwarts, possibly the strongest wizard of all time? The man who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald, and the only person the Dark Lord seemed to fear.

It was a laughable thought.

Completely outlandish.

A suicide mission if he'd ever heard of one.

The Dark Lord knew this from the start, of course. He expected Draco to fail and was simply waiting for an excuse to punish them further.

The Dark Lord was ruthless, like a child plucking the legs from a spider one by one. He reveled in their suffering with nothing to lose and everything to gain. If Draco succeeded, Voldemort would have one less enemy to defy him, and if Draco failed, then The Malfoy's would become his play thing. As if they weren't already. Why his father had willingly chosen to join this man, Draco would never understand.

He shuddered as he recalled his last trip home. He'd been summoned by the mark just before Halloween. It was the first time the brand had burned him and he'd nearly screamed aloud in the middle of Charms. Sweating and faint, he'd had to leave immediately, his excuse of being ill far too believable.

The Dark Lord had been waiting for him when he'd finally arrived at the manor. Again he'd been pulled aside. Completely alone with the most evil wizard in the entire world.

_"Your progress is slow, Draco. I fear you're not taking this task seriously. I worry I haven't motivated you properly, which is my fault of course. Let me undo my wrong. I will give you an ultimatum. If Albus is still alive by the end of the year, I will kill you. But I don't think that promise will be enough motivation, oh no. I think I'll have to kill everyone dear to you as well. I'll kill your mother first, lovely Narcissa. And then your father. Poor Lucious will meet his end by my wand, though he may very well have earned that sentence on his own,"_ Those red eyes flashed in his mind's eye as if Voldemort were standing before him now, that damned snake hissing at his heels.

"_And_ _after that's done, Draco, be assured, I will kill you along with them. I'm afraid that would put an end to the Malfoy line. What a tragedy that would be..."_

The room around him seemed to tilt as a wave of anxiety rolled over him.

Draco reeled away from the cabinet suddenly overcome by nausea. He vomited violently into a cracked pewter cauldron several rows down.

_Pathetic. _Malfoy thought when the bout passed.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and scorgified the mess he'd made. Why he'd even bothered to eat dinner he wasn't sure. He hadn't been able to keep down his meals for weeks now. The white collared button-up felt all too loose on his sickeningly bony shoulders.

"Get it together," He told to himself, lifting his chin in a dignified manner and making his way back to the Vanishing Cabinet.

He stood again, before the broken, daunting piece of furniture, eyeing it like an old adversary. He didn't have much choice than to try his hardest. He didn't want to serve the Dark Lord but he had a duty to protect his family.

If this is what it took, then so be it.

He dove in with determination but hours later, Draco found himself defeated and frustrated. Verging on tears and panic. The little golden finch he had placed in the cabinet minutes earlier now lay limp and lifeless.

It was dead.

Just like he and his family would be if he didn't fix this _Goddamn cabinet_.

Draco kicked out at a nearby stool, knocking it over along with several glass bottles that shattered all over the floor. The clatter echoed around the cathedral-sized room.

Panting, he turned heel and stormed to the exit.

He had had enough.

He flew back down the corridor, past the Barmy Tapestry, away from the Room of Requirement, and down the stairs to the sixth-floor washroom where he burst through the entrance, uncaring that Moaning Myrtle appeared from the far stall, gasping as she sighted him.

"You're back and... oh no. You look awful," She said, gliding after him as he rushed to one of the many sinks, grasping the porcelain bowl for support.

The nausea was back but there was nothing left in his stomach. He retched emptily until the heaving dissolved into sobs. It seemed nowadays, the only thing he could do was retch or cry, and if he was feeling particularly talented he could do both at the same time.

_Pathetic. _

He bowed his head away from the mirror and his paper pale complexion, tears rushing down his face.

"Don't," Myrtle crooned. He could feel the clammy sensation of her transparent hand stroking his hair.

"Don't ... Tell me what's wrong ... I can help,"

"No one can help me," Draco spat, still keeping his head down. His whole body was shaking. "H-He's toying with me. He knows I can't do it... he knows. And even if I could, I don't want to do it. God, I don't want to!" He sobbed, bending even further over the sink. "I fucking hate him. I want him to fall. I-I want things to be like they were before he came back,"

"Shhh, It's alright. It's alright,"

"It's not alright," Draco sobbed, "If I don't do it soon, he says he'll kill my mother and father...and then he says he'll kill me..."

His silver-blonde head whipped up, heart pounding, as he heard a scuffle of shoes behind him, and there, in the mirror's reflection, stood none other than Harry _fucking_ Potter.

The black-haired boy had a stupid look of surprise on his face like he'd caught a lady in the midst of changing.

Malfoy gaped at the other boy in the mirror for a breath's time, incensed that perfect fucking Potter had found him in such a state and had the gall to look at him like _that._ Like he, Draco, was the most pitiful creature in the world.

_And oh Lord, how much did Potter hear?_

Rage overwhelmed him as he wheeled around to face the Boy-Who-Lived. His hex missed Potter's right ear by inches and cracked the tile on the far wall behind him.

The Gryffindor pulled his wand out as well but Malfoy dodged the countering hex easily, diving behind the wooden stalls.

"No! No! Stop it!" Myrtle screamed as Draco darted out to shoot another hex at Potter who clumsily sidestepped it, the bin beside him exploding into a flurry of crumpled waste paper.

"Stop it, STOP IT!" Myrtle wailed, the cistern beside her shattered violently as Harry's hex hurtled by Draco's flank.

Draco's fury reached a peak as Potter slipped in the spray of water that was quickly flooding the floor. His better senses were drowned out by blind anger.

"Cruci-" He began, wand held high over his head.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Potter bellowed. The unfamiliar curse hit Draco squarely in the chest and suddenly, there was searing pain and blood everywhere. It spilled from him almost as quickly as the water pouring from the ruptured pipes. It was as if he'd been slashed by invisible swords.

It all happened so quickly.

His wand clattered to the floor as his legs gave way and he stumbled backward, collapsing with a splash. He scrabbled at his front in surprise, clutching at the deep gaping slashes that spanned his face and torso. Where the hell had Potter learned dark magic like this?

"No-" He heard Potter rasp. There was a great shuffling and then Potter was crouching above him, looking pale and stricken in the dim lighting. "No - I didn't,"

Draco's whole body was trembling and he couldn't move. He was very cold. Freezing in fact. And tired. So, so tired.

He gasped as Potter suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling his upper half off the wet stone tile and into his lap. The Gryffindor had taken off his sweater and was now pushing it firmly against the wounds on Draco's chest as if _that _was going to work.

He was bleeding out for heaven's sake!

Blood was gushing from him at an alarming rate. Potter had somehow become covered in it. Splashes of scarlet peppered his face and streaked his glasses.

If things carried on like this, he was surely going to die. Draco should have been more upset by this realization, but for some reason, he wasn't. It would almost be a relief to let go. He wouldn't have to kill Dumbledore anymore and Voldemort could hardly punish his parents if Draco died by Potter's _clearly_ accidental hand.

In fact, being murdered by Harry Potter seemed suddenly comical. The-Boy-Who Lived. The-Boy-Who-Can't-Stop-Thwarting-The-Dark-Lord's-Plans. At it again.

Oh, Voldemort would be furious.

He swallowed clumsily as he studied Potter's face, sweaty and furrowed with fear as his efforts did nothing to staunch the bleeding. Draco was too weak to remove himself from Potter's lap, but even if he could, he wasn't sure he would have. It was rather comforting to be held like this. That thought made him want to laugh as well. He never would have guessed he'd die in Potter's arms.

"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" Myrtle screeched.

"No, I didn't mean- I didn't know, please," Potter chanted, his face contorted with remorse.

Draco grimaced. The Chosen One was always on the right side of the fucking fence, wasn't he? Crying over every drop of spilled blood, even his enemy's. Didn't Potter understand that Draco was trying to murder their precious headmaster? Isn't that why he'd been stalking him for the better part of the year? Why didn't he realize that killing Draco was the right thing to do?

_Yes. Just let me die. Here and now,_ _and end this whole mess._

"Oh please, don't die. Please don't- MYRTLE! Would you stop shouting and just run for help!?"

But she didn't need to. The door banged open to admit Severus Snap, his billowing robes cascading over Draco's vision like a closing curtain before everything went black.

* * *

"I won't say I told you so," Hermione said. "I knew there was something wrong with that Prince person, and this proves it,"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry were the only Gryffindors still left in the common room. They'd waited for the last pair of giggling second-year girls to retire before Harry had recounted exactly what happened earlier that night. Harry was still shaking from the ordeal. He had washed and changed from his soiled robes hours ago but he couldn't stop imagining the sticky feel of blood on his palms.

"Leave it, Hermione," Ron said warningly. "Snape's already given him a terms worth of detention. He's had enough,"

"Not to mention I nearly killed another student," Harry said staring down at the pale hands in his lap. "Even if it was Malfoy,"

"Well, I hope you're ready to get rid of that book, Harry. It's dangerous!" Hermione said passionately, her eyes glinting in the firelight.

"Hermione, I said leave it," Ron groaned.

"I don't want to talk about the Prince," Harry said firmly. "It's my fault for trying out that spell without knowing the consequences, _not_, the Prince's. And I think you're missing the whole point of what happened tonight. I was right about Malfoy! He _has_ been up to something,"

Ron looked down awkwardly and Hermione bit her lip and leaned forward.

"Are you positive you overheard him correctly? How can you be sure he was talking about You-Know-Who?"

"Who else would be threatening to kill him and his family?" Harry asked grimly. "The good news for us is that whatever task Voldemort's asked him to do isn't going well. Malfoy said he couldn't do it...or wouldn't," Harry frowned, trying to remember everything he'd overheard.

"If only you'd thought to roll up Malfoy's sleeve while he was down. Could have proved he was a Death Eater once and for all,"

"Ron! Harry was hardly thinking of that at the time. It sounds like Malfoy was really hurt!"

Harry nodded solemnly, "She's right. My mind went blank after the curse hit. I never thought I'd be happy to see Snape, but if he hadn't come by, I don't think Malfoy would have made it. There was so much blood. Malfoy's a git, but I don't want him killed,"

Harry swallowed thickly. There was a heavy pit of unease in his stomach. Was Malfoy even alright? He wished he'd thought to ask but he'd been too rattled, even after Snape had returned from carrying the blonde's limp form to the hospital wing. The Slytherin had looked so pale and broken when Harry had held him in his lap, though thinking back on it, Malfoy's expression had been oddly peaceful. Like he was happy to be bleeding to death, or -_relieved_. It was a disturbing thought.

Harry stared into the fire, contemplating Malfoy's situation. If what he'd overheard was true, the Slytherin's very life was being held hostage by Voldemort. Harry suddenly felt very sorry for him. Death Eater, or not, even someone like Malfoy didn't deserve to be threatened like that.

And what had he said about Voldemort? He hated him and wanted him to fall...

"Well don't beat yourself up too much, Harry," Ron said, breaking his reverie with a firm, consolatory slap on the shoulder, "It wasn't your fault you fought back. Malfoy was the one who attacked you in the first place, and by the sounds of it, he was trying to use an unforgivable curse,"

Hermione looked troubled as her eyes flicked between the two boys. "I know you're not going to want to hear this, Harry, but I think you should go to Professor Dumbledore,"

"I've already told Dumbledore what I heard Malfoy saying, Hermione. He was there while Snape was telling Professor McGonagall what I'd done. He sort of just nodded and said I shouldn't be concerned over it,"

"Well if Dumbledore's aware, then you should drop it, Harry. Stop tailing Malfoy. This whole thing wouldn't have happened if you'd just left it alone," Hermione said gravely.

Harry couldn't fall asleep that night. He couldn't stop picturing Malfoy splayed across his lap, staring blankly at the ceiling with that resigned expression on his face.

Harry frowned and turned over for the umpteenth time, punching his pillow into yet another unsatisfying shape.

Harry was used to thinking about Malfoy as of late, considering he'd been tailing the boy for weeks now, obsessed with that labelled black dot on the Marauder's Map, wondering hopelessly what Malfoy was doing in the Room of Requirement. He was not, however, used to worrying over the Slytherin. He hated giving a damn over Malfoy's well being.

It wasn't that he suddenly liked the other boy. It was just his guilt. Or maybe a sense of responsibility.

Or perhaps it was sympathy for the blonde. Harry was familiar with the fear that came with facing Voldemort, and that was coming from a Gryffindor. He was humble about it, but bravery was in his blood. He could only imagine the Slytherin all but pissed himself just standing in Voldemort's presence, let alone being threatened by him. It was no secret that Malfoy was a coward.

Harry rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, frowning up at the darkness. The soft snores of Ron and Neville filled the silence.

He had to remind himself that Malfoy was an enemy. He was a Death Eater, Harry was certain. He was only in his position because he had placed himself there to begin with. Harry had no business going gray over him.

Even still, it wasn't until early morning that he finally drifted into a restless sleep.

* * *

Hello!

I know this story is starting in a place that has been redone time and time again but it sets the mood for where I intend to go. I did use several quotes directly from the book to tie the scenes together so I cannot take credit for those!

Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2 - Suicide Mission_

* * *

When Draco awoke the sun was creeping up over the horizon. He was in the infirmary and all was quiet.

He found stark white bandages lacing his front and he ached from head to toe. Draco balled his fists into the sheets.

He hadn't died then, damnit.

Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight and one look around the room told him he was the only student occupying a hospital cot. Draco gingerly rolled onto his side, curling his body into a little ball on the bed.

He cried himself quietly back to sleep.

* * *

Draco was released from the Hospital Wing around noon that day. His curse marks had closed much sooner than this, but Madam Pomfrey had infuriatingly kept him hostage until he'd finished an entire plate of breakfast sent up from the kitchens. She'd even forced a vial of Pepper-Up-Potion down his throat, telling him he still looked too peaky for her liking.

He shouldered his bag from the made-up hospital bed and gathered the pile of books into his arms grudgingly.

The house elves had raided his Slytherin dorm to bring him a fresh set of robes and all his school things so he wouldn't have to visit the dungeons before afternoon classes.

Not very helpful, seeing as Draco had no intention of attending them.

He strolled out of the hospital wing and took a sharp left, rather than a right towards Transfiguration. He had no time for silly things like schoolwork. He was headed straight for the Room of Requirement to double his efforts.

Since he hadn't died as he'd so very much hoped, his only option was to continue slaving over the cabinet. It was only a matter of time before his mark burned again as summons from the Dark Lord and he was fairly certain their third meeting would not be so civil if Draco hadn't made any forward progress. Voldemort would likely threaten him with more than just words if he had nothing to show.

Draco rounded a corner, cursing the elves for bringing him every damn book he owned before nearly toppling over from surprise, because there before him, in robes of deep magenta, stood the person he dreaded to find most.

Albus Dumbledore.

Draco's whole body went rigid as the tall thin figure noticed him.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, a fine day to you. I'd heard what happened and am glad to see you recovered so quickly," Dumbledore said. His dust-grey eyebrows rose in polite interest as he turned to face Draco fully, "But I am awfully surprised to find you in this part of the castle. This is certainly not the most direct route to the Transfiguration classroom if I am not mistaken,"

Draco's heart was pounding in his chest. Why had he come this way? It led him directly by the headmaster's bloody office! The Dark Mark branding his arm seemed to crawl beneath his skin as if it knew who was standing just steps before him. His entire body had broken out in a cold sweat and he was overcome with a strong urge to turn tail and run.

"Unless," Dumbledore said curiously, giving Draco a piercing stare, "You've come to tell me something?"

At these words, Draco's hands became useless as jellied toadstools. The pile of books he'd been carrying tumbled out of his arms and spilled across the floor at the headmaster's feet.

Dumbledore's wand appeared from the fringe of his robes and with a flick, the pile of books picked themselves up with a haughty flourish and began arranging themselves in midair. Draco gulped, watching the eccentric man hum absently as the books sorted themselves out.

_I could do it now. _Draco realized, face paling,_ It's just me and Dumbledore in this corridor._

There wouldn't have to be a dual or a struggle. He just had to take the headmaster by surprise. Catch him off his guard.

Draco's hand began to tremble as his grip tightened around his wand.

It was only two words. Avada Kedavra. He knew the theory behind the curse already. He'd studied it for hours. Practiced it on ants and flies.

_Just say it._

_Avada_

_Kedavra_

But this was different. This was a person and Draco had never killed anyone before. He wasn't prepared for this. How could he ever be prepared for this? Besides the fact, this man was possibly the only wizard who could match Voldemort himself. Did he really want to destroy the light side's strongest player and leave The Dark Lord with such an advantage? How would his family ever get out from under the madman?

But then Draco's books were all in line and nudging his chest expectantly. He hastily put his arms out to accept the now alphabetized pile. He staggered when the weight dropped back into his grip.

Dumbledore was peering at him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. Those blue eyes gave him the feeling of being x-rayed. Like Dumbledore knew exactly what he was up to. Draco instinctively threw forth his occlumency barriers but never felt the old man attempt to pry. He was just _looking_ at him with the strangest, unreadable expression.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy? Is there something you would like to tell me?"

"No sir," Draco said immediately.

The Headmaster stared at him for a few moments longer before beginning again, "Draco, I can only imagine that times must be hard for you and your family after what happened to Lucious, but I hope you realize there isn't anyone in this world who can force you to do something you don't want to,"

Malfoy's eye's widened. _The hell is he playing at? _"I-I don't know what you're talking about,"

Dumbledore held his hands up benignantly. "I mean no harm. I only wish to inform you that you always have more than one choice in this world and help will always be given to those who ask. For example, if you need a safe place to stay while your father is absent, Hogwarts can become more than just a school. It can be the safest place on earth,"

"I-I don't need help or a place to stay. I'm fine. I've got to get to class, Professor," He stammered

For the blink of an eye, Dumbledore's aged face revealed disappointment, but the momentary emotion was gone as soon as it had come. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. I suspect you should run if you want to make it on time. I'm sure you wouldn't want to ruffle professor McGonagall's feathers by being late. Minerva can be rather strict you know,"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Draco took his dismissal and hurried past the headmaster with his head down, but he did not go to Transfiguration, or even to the Room of Requirement. He dipped into the nearest restroom and hardly made it into a stall before vomiting up his entire breakfast.

* * *

That night in the Slytherin dorms, long after Blaise and Pansy had finished raking Potter's name through the coals, Crabbe and Goyle grunting along in agreement, Draco found himself hidden away behind the curtains of his four-poster bed. He'd sealed them magically shut so he would not be disturbed. A charmed jar full of flames bobbed overhead as lighting, casting flickering shadows across his mattress.

_I can't kill him. I can't fucking do it. Today proves that. _Malfoy thought, hands shaking as he pulled a leather-bound sketchbook from the hidden compartment within his headboard. Along with it, he produced a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead.

Having her under the imperious curse had its perks beyond futile murder attempts, he supposed.

He fumbled the cork off with a pop and took several large swallows straight from the bottle, praying the alcohol might settle his nerves.

He would have to start planning a new tactic tonight and he had the beginnings of an idea.

A horrible idea.

He shuddered and took another long drink before propping the bottle upright between his pillows and turning his attention to the notebook. He flipped it open and thumbed through his neatly organized notes.

He'd written pages and pages on assassination, poisons, vanishing cabinets, and disenchantment charms. It represented hours spent in the library, pouring over books and scrolls, perfecting magic far beyond his age and schooling. He'd mastered nonverbal magic during his research, occlumency, and even the unforgivables. His imperius curse was flawless judging by how easily he'd gained control of that bar wench, and though he'd never used it on another person, he was certain he was capable of casting the cruciatous curse. Potter would have been his first victim if he'd been given the chance, though admittedly he was not proud of that fact.

The killing curse on the other hand...

He grimaced and shook his head, scrolling through the pages more quickly. No matter what fantastic magical feats he had accomplished or how well he'd built up the scaffolding of this plan, it had all been for naught.

He would never be able to make the final move.

He could checkmate all he liked but what good was that if he couldn't finish?

And now that he really thought about it, he simply didn't want to. Dumbledore was too important to kill. As he'd realized earlier, the Headmaster was likely the only one capable of putting an end to Voldemort's uprising. Only if the Dark Lord was defeated could his family truly be free. He was quite decided on hating Lord Voldemort. That bastard could go stuff a broom up his ass for all the trouble he'd caused The Malfoy family.

Draco came to the last marked page and sneered at his script, a stupid plot to lure the headmaster to the top of the astronomy tower in the dead of night...

_I'll just have to come up with another way to save my parents._

He could feel the buzz of alcohol beginning to hit him as he dipped his quill into the inkwell balanced on his knee. With a steady hand, he wrote two words across the top of a blank page, going over them a second time so they were boldface.

Draco was a clever boy, and though it had taken him longer than his mother, he had realized the truth in the end. Voldemort had written him two bleak destinies by tasking him with this assassination. Draco would either succeed in killing the headmaster and ensure The Dark Lord's rise to power, or he would fail and give Voldemort reason to make The Malfoys' lives a living hell. Draco was just an object to him. A disposable tool. A means to an end.

But Voldemort was wrong.

Draco was neither of those things and he refused to accept any predetermined destiny, so since he didn't like option one or two, he was just going to have to carve out a third. One in which he saved his parents and helped thwart the Dark Lord in one fell swoop.

He felt a jitter of fear run through him as he read the words he'd written silently, reaching out to take another swallow of mead.

_Suicide Mission_

That's what this whole thing had been all along anyway, so why not take it a bit more literally? He, Draco Malfoy, had to begin planning the death of an alternative target.

Tonight, he would begin planning his own death.

* * *

By the time he'd gained the nerve to continue writing, he was quite drunk.

Nearly half the bottle of mead was gone and it was taking an enormous amount of concentration not to spill the little container of ink that kept threatening to tip each time he clumsily dunked his quill.

_Rule number one_, he wrote in surprisingly elegant cursive despite his state.

_This suicide, must not look like a suicide._

Draco blew on the wet ink lightly and nodded to himself. Rule number one was paramount. Mercy, if the Dark Lord realized Draco had offed himself just to slack his duties, the madman wouldn't just kill his parents, but all the peacocks and koi in the Malfoy yard as well.

No. The Dark Lord must not know that Draco had any part of his own demise. It would defeat his entire noble, bloody purpose and undoubtedly cost his parents their lives.

Such a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor thing to be planning, he thought disgustedly. Slytherin's were supposed to be self-preserving. He frowned and tapped the mead bottle with his pointer finger thoughtfully, again coming up short in conjuring any other solution than killing himself. No matter how much cunning or slyness he possessed, he could not think of a better way to fix the situation.

How far he had fallen. He raised the bottle and gave cheers to the air as if honoring the demise of this former Slytherin quality and took another swig.

_Rule number two._ He scripted neatly, moving his quill down the page several inches. His inebriation was making it almost like a game.

_Witnesses must be present_.

Yes, witnesses were a must, he thought, dusting his chin with the feathered end of his quill. Witnesses meant there would be no question in exactly how he died. Inexplicable, irrefutable evidence. Rumors would spread and no one would be able to say his death had been anything more than a tragic accident. As so plainly described by rule number one, there must not be even a vague inkling that Draco had been planning to die.

He dipped his quill once more after another thoughtful pause and moved even further down the page. He scribbled out the last and final rule. Possibly his favorite rule.

_Rule number three._

He chuckled quietly to himself, hiccoughing as he laughed at the idea he'd come up with.

_Harry Potter must be responsible for my death._

The wet ink glinted in the dancing flame light as it dried. Draco smiled grimly as he reread the last bullet over again.

Why must it be Potter? Because the thought that had sprung to him several weeks ago as he'd been trying to croak in Potter's lap had been fucking genius. What better way to enrage the Dark Lord than to give Potter another leg up? Draco wanted to irritate the Dark Lord as much as possible if he was going to die because of him.

The final rule would also serve to satisfy his funny little grudge against The Golden Boy. "An obsession" Pansy or Blaise would call it. Ever since that damn messy-haired 11-year-old had made him look like an utter fool in front of their entire grade. Turning his friendship down as if it belonged in the mud.

Damn Potter.

Draco felt that rule number three was possibly as important as rule number one. He thought back on Potter's stricken expression as he'd desperately shoved his Gryffindor sweater against Draco's chest to stop the blood from spilling. Potter had been utterly distraught with the idea of taking an innocent life.

Not that Draco was exactly innocent if one considered the Dark Mark slithering across his flesh. He shivered and tugged at the sleeve covering his left arm absently.

It was settled. Potter would be the one. If Draco was lucky, Potter would be emotionally scarred for life. Not that the Gryffindor didn't have enough emotional scars as it was. Parents: dead. Godfather: dead. Raised by fat stupid muggles who half-starved him, judging by how scrawny he became after each summer holiday.

And if the rumors surrounding the prophecy were true, and Potter really was the one destined to kill Voldemort... Draco pursed his lips.

He suddenly felt very sorry for Harry Potter.

But not sorry enough to change his mind.

He set his quill aside and re-read the rules one more time. As far as dying went, Draco thought his planning was going rather well. The alcohol might have helped take the edge off a bit but how else was he supposed to stay sane as he planned his own murder, for Merlin's sake?

He frowned as he capped the ink.

His idea was a good one, he knew it. It was the best way to end his circumstance with the least number of casualties. His mother and father would be spared, their muggle loving headmaster would walk free, and if he managed to die before fixing the vanishing cabinet, he would save a number of students from the Death Eaters he'd planned to set loose on the grounds.

All that would be great. Brilliant in fact.

But still, he didn't want to die.

He swallowed hard and stared up at the canopy which tilted pleasantly under the effects of the drink. He had actually contemplated going to Dumbledore earlier that day, taking the senile old coot up on his offer. _"Hogwarts can become more than just a school. It can be the safest place on earth,"_

But Draco knew that was no option. He would condemn his parents to death if he did that.

This was the corner he'd been backed into.

Draco snapped the notebook shut suddenly and tipped the bottle back. He didn't care if he woke up with a hangover. Tonight, he wanted to forget-

"Draco?" Came a muffled voice from beyond his bed curtains. He practically choked on the mouthful of mead he'd just taken. The fabric rustled as the person on the other side tugged at it.

"Draco, I know you're awake in there. Let me in," It was Pansy.

As quickly as he could, he gathered up his notebook and shoved it back into the secret compartment before grabbing his sleeve and hauling it up over his forearm. The black ink stood out harshly against his pale skin in the artificial light. The Dark Mark writhed indignantly as he pressed the tip of his wand to it and muttered an incantation, concealing the tattoo temporarily from view.

Satisfied that the Mark was convincingly covered, he smoothed his hair into what he hoped was a bit more dignified style and flicked his wand at the curtains, undoing the privacy charm. As soon as the spell lifted, Pansy prized apart the curtains and let herself in.

"Pansy, what you're doing up at this hour?" He asked in the best impersonation of a sober person he could muster.

She clambered onto his bedspread and drew the curtains shut behind her as casually as if she'd just strolled into her own drawing-room. She gave him a wry smile and tossed the nap sack she'd brought aside. "I couldn't sleep if you must know. And by the way, I could ask you the same question,"

She spotted the half-finished bottle of mead balanced upright against his leg. Her eyes widened and one of her brows lifted, "You've been drinking and didn't invite me? How on earth did you even sneak that in here?"

"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," He said nonchalantly, unable to help himself from chuckling as she held out her hand expectantly, looking as entitled as a princess in her silken white house robe embroidered with emerald green and gold.

"Always so sly and mysterious," She said, taking the bottle from him and raising it to her lips.

"And don't forget clever,"

She gave his shoulder a playful shove. "I would never forget that, Draco, darling," She helped herself to a few more sips before settling back into his pillows, making herself quite at home.

He joined her willingly, flopping into the pillows beside her. "So to what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you wanted to put a stop to these nighttime meetings?"

She pursed her lips, "When exactly did I say that? Besides, I was worried about you. I wanted to come and make sure you were really okay. You've heard that Moaning Myrtle's been visiting nearly every girl's room in the entire school to tell the enthralling tale of your and Potter's dual, right? She feels cheated that you lived. She seems to think that if Snape hadn't arrived, she would have gained a handsome ghost companion to join her in the S bend,"

Pansy spoke sarcastically, but Draco could tell she'd been worried. "It wasn't so bad, Pansy. Myrtle's dramatic as they come,"

The brunette frowned as she studied his face, reaching out and tracing his cheek where there must have been a scar. Her thumb found its way down to his mouth and suddenly her lips were on his. He gave into it passively, even letting her unbutton his shirt, her hands working more fervently as the kiss deepened.

She was panting by the time she pulled away, robe slipping dangerously down her shoulder.

"It looks like it must have been pretty serious," She said breathily, skirting her fingers over the many scars now lacing his front. She followed one silvery line all the way down to his navel before moving on to his belt, tugging at the buckle.

He stopped her at that, grabbing her hands in his as gently as possible.

"Not tonight," He said, his own breath coming quite fast, "I was only released from the hospital wing this morning, remember?"

He and Pansy had been friends with benefits since their fourth year. If it were any other girl, it never would have worked. Things would have gotten too complicated and messy, but Pansy was perfect. She didn't cling and she wasn't sentimental about sleeping together. They both understood that this was just a bit of fun. A release for both of them. It didn't matter that Pansy secretly liked Blaise and undoubtably pictured the dark-colored Slytherin beneath her every time they tossed, and it didn't matter that Draco secretly preferred blokes but was alright swinging both ways for a little physical contact.

Her brown eyes twinkled as she studied him, but eventually nodded and dismounted, looking only a little disappointed, "I figured you might say that. It's no matter. Accio,"

The leather sack zoomed into her hand from the foot of the bed, "I smuggled this out of the Great Hall for you. Goyle told me you never made it to supper today, so I thought you might be hungry," She produced a large helping of quiche and several of his favorite chocolate pastries from the bag. His insides were indeed gnawing, now that he took a moment to think about.

"You've gotten thinner," Pansy said as she watched him take a zealous bite. "And you always look so tired and distracted lately. You're starting to worry me, you know. I thought you were just showing off for Blaise and the others on the Hogwarts Express but I'm beginning to wonder if you really are up to something this year,"

He shrugged and continued to chew carefully.

"Talk to me, Draco, I'm your best friend. You're being so secretive. You still never told me why you went home over Halloween or where you've been disappearing to for hours on end all term long. Don't you trust me?"

He swallowed and looked down at the food in his lap. It suddenly tasted like cardboard.

"Tell me you weren't being serious about all that stuff you said. You haven't actually been given a job by You-Know-Who?"

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," he said enigmatically.

"This isn't funny, Draco. I know your father is a Death Eater, but do you really care about all those things they believe in? Bloodlines and traitors? Sure it's a good time to harass mudbloods like Granger and Finch-Fletchley, but this isn't about childish school yard disputes," She lowered her voice and leaned in closer, "My parents think there's going to be a war and they don't want any part of it,"

Draco didn't meet her eye.

"Give me your arm," She said suddenly, glaring at him.

"Pansy, you've seen-"

"No, I haven't. It was before Halloween when we were last together properly. Your arm," She said, eye's flashing. He held it out to her with a defiant expression. This had been the reason he'd concealed his new tattoo. She tugged back his sleeve and looked down at the unmarred flesh, running a hand over it, a sigh leaving her.

"I thought for a moment..."

"That I'd taken the mark and become one of The Dark Lord's supremacist slaves?" He scoffed, "Of course not. I agree with you. It's not worth risking my own life in some stupid squabble over which bloodline gets to hold a wand and if it's fair sport to hunt muggles or not,"

Pansy looked relieved to hear him talking like this. She relaxed back into the pillows. "Exactly. It seems like such a stir for what outcome? If we kick the mudbloods out, it's not going to make me and my parents any richer or more magical. We're already plenty well off. As far as I'm concerned, a war would just tax our way of life and I've rather come to enjoy the finer things,"

Draco laughed darkly. "Indeed. If only my father had felt the same way. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten himself locked away in Azkaban," He held out his hand for the bottle which Pansy passed to him sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I know your family's caught up in the heart of it. So's Crabbe and Goyle's," Pansy wrapped herself around his arm and cuddled up to his shoulder. "It makes me scared for you. The Dark Lord is so dangerous,"

Draco let his head fall onto Pansy's, setting aside the half-finished dinner. She smelled like lilacs and expensive perfume. It was familiar and comforting.

"You know, you could come stay with my family until the worst of it's over. My mother and father wouldn't mind," She said in a small voice, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt.

Wouldn't that be nice? Draco closed his eyes and let his imagination wander to a universe in which he took Pansy up on her offer and hid away from the world. He could pretend he hadn't just spent the entire night planning a suicide, and forget there was a deadline on his life. He squeezed Pansy harder, a lump coming to his throat. He would be long gone by the end of the year, but hopefully he would leave his friends and family better off than they'd been before.

"Thank you, Pansy," He knew she could hear how thick his voice had become but didn't comment. They were best friends, after all, so she knew well enough to leave it where it was. She untucked the blankets and pulled them up over the two of them before corking the bottle of mead.

"Goodnight," She said, using her wand to douse the jar of flames.

Draco fell asleep with Pansy at his side, thankful for a friend, because even if she didn't know the half of it, she was there.

* * *

Apologies for any grammar/spelling errors I missed. Thank you for the follows and favorites ~ much appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3 -First attempt_

* * *

Several weeks passed and slowly the twittering gossip revolving the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin bathroom duel began to subside. The only evidence of that night were the white curse lines crisscrossing Draco's face and chest. They were thread-thin and not all that noticeable if you weren't looking closely. They didn't bother Draco half as much as he'd expected them to.

Pansy wouldn't admit it aloud, but Draco could tell she didn't mind them either. They added a new curiosity to his features as if he were some kind of war veteran.

Draco observed his subtly scarred reflection in the mirror, tilting his face back and forth so the little lines caught the light.

The sun hadn't yet risen and it would be another few hours before breakfast started in the Great Hall, but Draco was already groomed and dressed. He fully intended to devote this extra time to the Room of Requirement. Despite his little "Suicide Plan," Draco still felt compelled to keep plodding along with the Vanishing Cabinet.

Who knew when he would get a chance to goad Potter into accidentally murdering him, and if The Dark Lord called on him at a moment's notice, he needed to be prepared. It had to look as if he were still moving towards his target. Slow progress was better than no progress at all, as far as he was concerned.

Draco straightened the collar of his button-up one last time before turning away from the mirror. He exited the Slytherin common room quietly and made his way to the seventh floor.

He, unfortunately, had discovered a new tactic to try on the cabinet while browsing Spellman's Syllybary. A set of binding runes existed that, if carved and charmed properly, might just stabilize the cabinets' connection. How he had managed such genius with minimal effort, he had no idea. It was the most forward progress he'd made in weeks and he was hardly even trying.

Draco arrived at the blank space of wall and paced back and forth impatiently until the familiar door appeared.

He let himself in, stomach churning with nerves.

He now had two hourglasses going: one for the cabinet, and the other for his death. The pressure from them both was staggering. His class work was really starting to suffer now that he'd split himself between the stress of them both. He was stretched far too thin, and despite all the time he'd spent working on his suicide mission, Draco only had several half-thought out ideas on how Potter might accidentally maim him, and none of them were really to his liking. Should he have Potter drown him in the lake, or should he coordinate some sort of fatal Quidditch accident? Or maybe the Astronomy Tower was a good setting for a murder, after all. If he were to lure Potter into dueling him up there, it would be easy to stage a fall. At least his death would be rather quick. Painless, even, if he was lucky.

Draco frowned as he came upon the menacing black cabinet. Damn his rune discovery. He hoped it wouldn't work. He still had so much more suicide planning to finish.

None the less, Draco grudgingly set to work. He unlatched the cabinet doors and fanned them open before kneeling carefully down inside. He used his wand to inscribe the memorized runes, hand held steady to ensure each mark was perfectly precise. He was sweating by the time he had finished the 3 inch line of script. It didn't look like much, but it could be everything.

Draco rocked back onto his heels and reached for the apple he'd brought with him from yesterday's lunch. He juggled it absently for a moment before setting it down in the Vanishing Cabinet and closing the doors.

_Please don't work._ Draco prayed, as he leaned his forehead against the cool wood and muttered the incantation he'd practiced.

A little whoosh told him the apple had been sent to its brother cabinet.

Draco pulled the doors back open to confirm. As he'd expected, the apple was gone. He carefully closed the cabinet once more, hands starting to shake.

_Shit._ His suspicions had been correct. The runes had stabilized the connection, otherwise, the apple wouldn't have vanished so quickly. It had gone much more swiftly than any other object he'd managed to disappear-

He startled as a whoosh and a thump sounded from within the cabinet.

He stared at the doors with wide eyes, frightened, very frightened to find what had returned to him.

When he finally worked up the courage, he clicked the latches open and cautiously peered inside.

The apple sat there, shiny and pristine, perfectly unharmed aside from the crisp bite that had been taken from it. Someone had found the apple and sent it back. Perhaps Borgin had received it, or Yaxley, or maybe Fenrir Grayback.

Draco could feel the color draining from his face.

The cabinet was nearly mended, which was bad enough to begin with, but it was much worse than that.

Whoever was waiting in Knockturn alley knew it too.

* * *

"Harry, where were you today after Herbology?" Hermione asked as she Ron and Harry made their way down from the common room to the Great Hall for supper. They were rather late to eat, some of the last stragglers hoping they hadn't missed the main course.

"Err-" Harry said awkwardly, shoving his invisibility cloak deeper into his robe. The Marauder's map was also tucked safely into his pants pocket, just a blank piece of parchment if anyone picked it up now.

"I hope you weren't doing what I think you were doing,"

Harry tried to pretend he hadn't heard her, but Hermione grasped his arm and pulled him to a stop.

Ron groaned and turned to them. "Not now, Hermione. I'm starving!"

But she ignored him and gave Harry a searching look, hand still gripped around his forearm. "I hope you weren't sneaking off after Malfoy again,"

"No! Well, I...you know," Harry said lamely, studying his feet with sudden intent.

"You were, weren't you!" Her eye's widened and she gave his arm a squeeze. "Harry, you've got to leave it alone. You're only going to get yourself into more trouble! Remember what Dumbledore told you. He said it's not your concer-"

"But Hermione, he's back at it again!" Harry burst out with. He had to hastily lower his voice as several Ravenclaws gave him curious looks as they passed, "He's been disappearing into the Room of Requirement all week. I thought he'd given it up after what happened, but now he's in there more than ever! Whatever he's up to is dangerous. He's already cursed Katie Bell -don't look at me like that, I'm sure it was him! If Dumbledore's not going to take it seriously, then it's up to me to stop him from hurting anyone else,"

"Harry, you're being unreasonable! You're obsessed! Ron, tell him,"

Ron shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, "Yeah, well...she's sort of right, isn't she mate? Even McGonagall said Malfoy couldn't have cursed Katie. He was serving detention at the time, remember? Plus, don't you think it would be kind of unlikely for You-Know-Who to enlist Malfoy's help on anything important? He's only 16 and You-Know-Who's got loads of Death Eaters to do his bidding. Why would he pick Malfoy?"

"You're forgetting Malfoy's the same age as us, and we've faced _and_ beaten Voldemort more times than any other wizards out there. I don't think age is something he discriminates against," Harry growled, ignoring Ron's exaggerated flinch as he said Voldemort's name. Harry removed his arm from Hermione's hand and brusquely began striding on in the direction of the Great Hall.

"Look, I've told you both exactly what I overheard Malfoy saying that night. If you two don't believe me, or - or don't want to help find out what's going on, that's fine by me!" He said heatedly. Ron and Hermione exchanged a nervous look.

"Harry, we believe you, it's just I don't think it's your responsibility -"

Harry turned on his heel to face her, his temper flaring, "Defeating Voldemort my first year wasn't my responsibility, nor was fighting the basilisk my second year, but good thing I did, yeah? Or would you have preferred I hadn't done any of those things? We all probably would be dead by now and wouldn't need to be having this conversation,"

Hermione looked scandalized. "Harry, that's not what I meant. But..but don't you remember when the Chamber of Secrets was open? You thought Malfoy was behind the attacks then too, but he wasn't. What if you're mistaken again?"

Harry screwed his face up and shook his head adamantly. "No. This time's different. I have evidence-"

Ron suddenly grabbed them both by the sleeve, interrupting their argument by pulling them to a stop.

"Oy, look. Speak of the devil," Ron nodded over towards the far stairs leading down from the seventh floor. A slender figure in formfitting pants and a white uniform top was currently descending towards them.

"Malfoy," Harry growled. The Slytherin hadn't yet noticed he was not the only one in the corridor. His gray eyes were trained on the floor and he wore a troubled expression, lips pressed firmly together into a worried line. His silver-blonde hair was not slicked neatly per his usual fashion. The locks were mussed and feathery around his face as if he'd run his hands through his hair too many times.

Harry frowned as Malfoy drew closer.

To put it bluntly, Malfoy looked unwell.

He was even thinner than he'd been a few weeks ago, jawline sharp and cut beneath deeply hollowed cheeks. His face was paler than ever, nearly the same color as his button-up, and he had purple bruises beneath his eyes as if he hadn't slept properly in ages. The pompous superior attitude he usually wore like a cloak was gone. He looked ragged and lonely without either Crabbe or Goyle flanking him.

A pit was settling back into Harry's stomach as he watched the other boy. It wasn't anger or dislike, despite the heat he'd been feeling only moments earlier.

Harry again was feeling worried for Malfoy. It was an instinctual emotion and didn't make a lick of sense. He should feel happy that Malfoy looked this terrible considering it likely meant whatever he was up to was going badly. He should feel relieved!

But he didn't.

He couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy sobbing over the grimy sink, tears rushing down his face. _"If I don't do it soon, he says he'll kill my mother and father...and then he says he'll kill me..."_

Harry swallowed and tried to push the odd, far too civil, thoughts from his mind.

It wasn't until Malfoy was within 10 paces of them that he finally realized their presence. Harry found himself stiffening as Malfoy's fretting expression was artfully replaced by a scowl, his spine straightening and chin tilting up to compose himself.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Malfoy spat. The Slytherin had grown taller over the last year, Harry realized. He was now level with Ron's gangly form and had Harry by at least half a head. "Been tailing me again, Potter? Don't tell me you've enlisted the Weasel and Know-it-all's help now?"

"We've as much right to be in the hall as you, and don't call her that, you slimy git!" Ron snarled, wand emerging from his pocket.

Malfoy gave Ron a disdainful glare as if he was something very unpleasant, but made no move to take out his own wand. "You're right Weasley. Probably shouldn't anger Potter here. He might try to murder me again,"

Malfoy's words were like a punch to Harry's gut. The blonde knew it too, judging by his satisfied smirk. Suddenly the thread-like scars across Malfoy's visible skin became more obvious to Harry. They made neat X's across the right half of his face, and a few disappeared beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"That was an accident, Malfoy. Harry didn't know what that spell did-" Hermione said.

"-but don't think you didn't deserve what you got," Ron followed with fiercely.

Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously at Ron, but he still made no move to withdraw his wand. "Such violent words for a Gryffindor. And here I thought you were supposed to be Dumbledore's little angels,"

"Dumbledore's Army, Malfoy. Get it right. You're not so tough when you're daddy's locked up in Azkaban, are you," Ron goaded.

Harry watched pain flicker across the blonde's face, but it was skillfully masked by a hateful expression. It was clear Ron had hit a tender spot. Malfoy's cheeks filled with a hint of color and suddenly he seemed to tremble with anger, finally provoked into pulling the wand from his back pocket. He pointed it directly at Ron's throat, clutching the hilt with pale thin fingers.

"My father wouldn't be in prison if not for you three," He said venomously.

"Oh no! Don't," Hermione said shrilly as Harry stepped up beside Ron, his wand brandished as well. Harry was relieved to find that his odd sense of concern was suppressed, a swell of anger returning to him at the mention of Lucius Malfoy. It dredged up too many bad feelings about The Department of Mysteries and losing Sirius. This was why he hated Malfoy. Yes, this felt right.

"Your father deserves every minute he spends in Azkaban. He's a foul git who's been working for Voldemort," Harry said. Malfoy flinched even more badly than Ron as he said the name, "Your father and every other Death Eater should be locked up for good,"

"Is that so, Potter," Malfoy's wand lowered from Ron's throat slightly. A calculating expression suddenly crossed the Slytherin's face and his eyes flicked up to the ceiling. Harry and Ron both followed his gaze but it must have been a distraction.

With a non-verbal command, Malfoy's wand erupted with a red-colored spell which hit Ron in the gut, sending him skidding across the floor in an undignified rumple of robes, wand flying about 15 feet into the air and landing with a clatter on the opposite side of the hall. Hermione squealed and hurried after him.

"Ron!" Harry shouted. The redhead was tangled in the knot his robes had become and cursing more colorfully than a sailor, but looked overall unharmed. Harry breathed a quick sigh of relief and turned back to the Slytherin, "That was a dirty trick, Malfoy! You fight like a coward!"

Malfoy's wand was aimed at Harry's chest as he walked in a smooth predatory arc. "Fighting two on one is what's cowardly, you bint. If you want to duel, Potter, face me all on your own,"

"Expelliarmus!" Harry answered, hurling a disarming spell at the Slytherin. Malfoy dodged it with prudent efficiency, his eyes flicking distractedly around the room and then back up to the ceiling. His face had gone a dusky sallow color as if he might suddenly get ill.

If he'd looked unwell before, he looked like downright dragon shit at this point. It was unsettling to see Malfoy look so unkempt. Unhinged, almost.

Harry chanced one more glance upward to try and figure out what the hell Malfoy was looking at. There was a painted mural of the stars and an enormous shimmering chandelier above them, but nothing else. Harry trained his focus back on his adversary just as Malfoy fired a spell in his direction but it was poorly aimed and missed him by about a mile.

Harry retaliated with a leg locking curse, but it was deflected by a neat shield charm. Malfoy had finally focused iron-gray eyes on Harry, his expression suddenly much more intense.

"You think you're so special, Potter. So fucking noble," Malfoy's aim was much better this time. A stinging spell hit Harry in the right shoulder, making his entire arm go numb. His fingers felt so fat and clumsy, he nearly dropped his wand. He fumbled it to his left hand and threw another spell at Malfoy but it was knocked away like a wad of paper.

"Perfect. Fucking. Potter," Malfoy accented each word with a cleverly directed spell. None of them were actually causing damage, but each time they stuck, it was as if he'd been jabbed with an uncomfortable zap of electricity.

"The Chosen One," Malfoy said in a mocking voice. "The weight of the world is resting upon your heroic shoulder's, isn't it, Potter? Must be so heavy,"

Harry took a few stumbling steps sideways and managed to dodge one of the stinging spells. A small victory. When the hell had Malfoy become so good a dueling?

"You and your Golden trio think you've got such a tough life -" Malfoy had advanced on him, coming so close that if Harry wanted to he could drop his wand and punch the other boy, but he'd become wholeheartedly distracted. With Malfoy so near, Harry could see his face properly. It was then he realized the blonde in front of him was verging on tears. He looked terrified for some reason.

"-But you don't know how good you've got it," Malfoy spat quietly so only Harry could hear him.

"Harry! Stop it! Just walk away!" Hermione was yelling as she helped Ron up off the floor.

"Jinx his stocks off, Harry!" Ron shouted.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry tried. He suddenly wanted this fight to be over as much as Hermione. There was something wrong with the interaction. Why the hell was Malfoy crying?

To his dismay, Malfoy leaped aside, putting space between them, his eyes flying up to the damn ceiling again. Harry took his chance.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, but his arm suddenly had a mind of its own, angling upward to aim in a completely different direction. It was as if he'd been confounded. His spell missed so badly, it flew several arm spans over Malfoy's head, striking the breastplate of a suit of armor and ricocheting wildly. With what must have been the worst luck in the world, the rogue spell shot upwards and collided directly with the stock of the chandelier.

There was a horrible _crack_ as the metal holding the fixture snapped.

"HARRY!" Hermione's scream pierced his ears but he was frozen in place, he was standing directly beneath the chandelier, watching it give way.

He was going to be crushed to death, he realized in horror, and yet he couldn't seem to move.

There was a flash of white blonde in his periphery. He looked forward just in time to see that it was Malfoy pelting at him. The Slytherin dropped his shoulder like a muggle rugby player and tackled Harry backward. All the wind was knocked out of him as he was barreled unceremoniously off his feet. No sooner had he hit the floor, did the entire hall rock with a ground shattering _CRASH_.

Harry had to shield his face as splintering glass and crystal rained over him. He could hear Hermione's terrified shriek and Ron's surprised shout behind him.

It took a moment for the dust to finally settle. Harry carefully let his arm down when it did. Tinkling glass slid off his robes and crunched beneath him as he moved.

He looked over his shoulder to see Ron sort of clutching Hermione as if he'd been shielding her. They both seemed uninjured but remained motionless, looking at the fallen chandelier with expressions of mute horror.

Harry swallowed shakily and propped himself up to peer at the damage.

His stomach did a violent flip as he realized why Ron and Hermione looked so horrified.

It was Malfoy.

The Slytherin lay sprawled on his back several feet before him, pinned beneath the great gold plated chandelier. It was crushing down upon his chest and the rest of his body was hidden beneath the twisted metal. A puddle of blood was already blossoming out around him.

Harry gaped at his rival wordlessly as if his brain couldn't quite fathom what had happened. He'd been trying to end the dual without any injuries. He'd been purposefully choosing spells not to harm!

But Malfoy was far from unharmed.

The Slytherin's eyes were still open, trained up at the starry night mural which now had a great number of cracks running through it where the fixture had broken loose. His mouth was open slightly and he was sort of twitching like a fish out of water trying to breathe air with gills.

It was the sectumsempra incident all over again.

"No, no -" Harry scrabbled frantically towards Malfoy on hands and knees, cutting his palms on bits of broken glass as he went. Malfoy's face was littered with little cuts and there was blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He looked up at Harry silently, slate eyes meeting green.

Malfoy looked...passive. Serene almost. A shiver went down Harry's spine as he realized it was the same look he'd seen on Malfoy's face several weeks ago.

Why did he look so numb?

"H-help me get this off him!" Harry stuttered after too long a pause. He reeled back and pointed a shaking wand at the twisted metal, "W-wingardium Leviosa!"

The chandelier groaned a bit and tried to pick itself up, but it must have weighed a ton.

"Wingardium Leviosa," He heard Hermione say behind him. The chandelier groaned some more and started to lift a few more inches. Malfoy gave an involuntary rasp and more blood spilled from his mouth as the weight shifted.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Ron said, red freckles stark against his white face. With great effort, the chandelier finally levitated into the air, sending more shards of glass and crystal skittering across the corridor.

Even with all three of them working together, the chandelier only lifted itself a few feet above the ground. It wouldn't stay air-born for long.

While maintaining his part of the levitation spell, Harry darted forward and gripped Malfoy beneath the armpits, dragging him from the wreckage. No sooner had he gotten Malfoy clear did the chandelier collapse back down with another ear-splitting crash.

There was a stir of commotion from below. They weren't far from the Great Hall, so undoubtedly the students and teachers had heard the ruckus.

Panting, Harry looked down at Malfoy, unsure of what to do next. Panic was welling up inside him. If he didn't do something soon, Malfoy was going to die. He was sure of it. He tried to wrack his brain for a healing spell, anything, but he couldn't think of a single one, and even if he could, Harry would have had no clue where to start. It didn't seem there was an inch of Malfoy that had been unscathed. Both of his legs were broken and there were multiple blunt puncture wounds through his abdomen. There was so much blood, it was hard to tell where all of it was coming from.

The blonde was trying to draw breath now that the weight had been lifted from his chest but his ribcage had been crushed badly and frothy red foam was bubbling from the wounds, turning his white shirt scarlet. The calm expression he'd been wearing was gone. He was grimacing painfully and choking on the blood in the back of his throat.

It was gruesome. Absolutely terrible.

"PEEVES! If you're behind this, I shall call the headmaster! Peeves!" Professor McGonagall shouted as she hurried into sight, clutching her robes up away from her ankles as she jogged towards them. Severus Snape was following not far behind the transfiguration teacher, looking livid and greasy as ever.

"You three? What are you... " Professor McGonagall trailed off abruptly as she spotted Harry crouching over Malfoy, who was mangled and shuddering in a pool of his own blood.

"Draco," Snape swooped forward, his bat-like robes billowing past McGonagall who was temporarily rooted in shock. He shoved Harry away as he knelt down beside the Slytherin. His black wand appeared from his sleeve and he began sweeping it over Draco's torso, muttering incantations so quickly, Harry could not distinguish where one word ended and another began.

The bleeding seemed to halt in its tracks but Malfoy was turning blue with incipient asphyxiation, his breaths coming in irregular, agonal gasps. It looked like Malfoy had fallen mercifully unconscious, eyes finally closed and face slack.

"Mr. Potter," He found himself being moved more gently by Professor McGonagall as she settled down on Malfoy's other side. "Run and tell Madame Pomfrey what's happened. We'll be bringing Mr. Malfoy to her in critical condition shortly. Now go, all three of you!" She dismissed them briskly before falling in synch with Snape's rattling chants, waving her own wand over Malfoy as well. There was a series of sickening snaps as Malfoy's ribs were forcibly reshaped to relieve the pressure.

"Harry," Hermione squeaked as she and Ron hoisted him to his feet. Harry's legs felt like jelly and he couldn't tear his eyes from Malfoy's blood-stained face.

"Potter," Snape growled so menacingly it broke Harry from his trance. His eyes were burning with such anger, Harry felt a jolt of fear run through him.

With one last glance at Malfoy's prone form, he turned on his heel and sprinted towards the hospital wing, Hermione and Ron in tow.

* * *

Ayoo thank you for the reviews/follows/favorites. Deepest apologies for any grammar/spelling issues I have missed!


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4 - Hospital Wing_

* * *

For the next few days, Harry refused to talk frankly about what had happened, much to Hermione and Ron's dismay. No matter how many times they tried to breach the subject, Harry stubbornly answered with unhelpful remarks or sullen silences. He was partially aware he was taking his rotten mood out on his friends, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Professor McGonagall had given him detention every night that week which wasn't what had Harry so sour. A few detentions seemed a small price for nearly killing another student.

No, it wasn't the punishment that had him feeling so dismal, but rather the guilt and damn sense of _worry. _

It didn't help his mental state that the blonde's condition was being kept private. Even Malfoy's fellow Slytherins seemed to be in the dark. Harry had overheard Pansy Parkinson during Charms hissing manically to Daphne Greengrass about how Pomfrey wouldn't allow any visitors. She'd looked at wits end with worry.

If Malfoy's best friends hadn't been clued in, then Harry doubted anyone else could claim to know details, but still they did.

The loud crashing from his and Malfoy's fight had indeed drawn a flock of curious students to the scene, and though Snape and McGonagall had moved Malfoy before any onlookers arrived, the remaining mess of broken glass, metal, and blood was enough to spark imagination. The gossip over the matter was thicker than molasses.

Harry felt nauseous as each new rumor reached him. Some said Malfoy was in an irreversible coma, while others thought he'd been transferred to St. Mungo's to be sorted out by the Artifacts Accidents Department. A few gruesome seventh-year Ravenclaws liked to swear Malfoy had died and the school was trying to hush the whole thing up. The "Dead Malfoy" rumors were among Harry's least favorite, right next to the mutterings that Harry had actually pushed Malfoy beneath the falling chandelier, or sent it down upon him on purpose.

It had been three days since the accident and the mystery of Malfoy's condition only seemed to prod the rumors to become more preposterous and cinematic. It seemed everyone was talking about it. Lavender and Parvati were simply having a field day.

Harry sulked between classes, Ron and Hermione following anxiously behind him.

"Aw cheer up, mate. The rumors aren't all bad," Ron started, nudging his elbow as he matched stride. "I overheard Parvati telling Angelina that Malfoy was throwing killing curses at you, and you had no other choice but bring the ceiling down on top of him in self-defense,"

Harry gave Ron a disgusted look.

"What? I know that's not what really happened. I'm just saying you're not the bad guy in all the stuff that's going around!"

Hermione also gave Ron a disapproving frown, "Are you trying to make him feel worse?"

Harry didn't want to hear it from either of them. He picked up his pace as a surge of irritation coursed through him. "I've told you both a hundred times, I don't want to talk about it! Nothing we say is going to change what happened and I'm hearing about it plenty from everyone else. Let's just talk about something different for a change, like Transfiguration homework, or Quidditch, or Flitwick's new haircut, for all I care-"

Harry's rant was interrupted as a fifth-year Slytherin rammed into his shoulder in passing, though it had clearly been on purpose. It was the dark-colored boy named Harper.

He spun around to face Harry, shrinking away in mock fear. "Oh, I'm so very sorry, Potter, please don't drop a chandelier on me!" His overly dramatic acting was met by a chorus of laughs and jeers from the group of Slytherins accompanying him.

"Move out of the way, Nott, you overgrown troll," Ron said to the burly seventh year who was sniggering beside Harper, blocking their way.

"Why don't you make me, Weasley?" He said, but before Ron could even produce his wand, Nott was forcibly moved aside by someone else.

To Harry's surprise, it was Pansy Parkinson clearing the path, pushing through the group from behind. Harper had to pinwheel his arms to keep from toppling over, he was shoved so forcefully. Pansy looked like a bristling tabby as she rounded on the boys. "Oh come off your high horses and don't look so smug. You're only acting so high and mighty because Draco's not here. Well you're not very funny, and I bet it took you all morning to come up with that jibe, didn't it, Harper?"

Harper looked more than a little affronted, chest puffing up like an angry peacock. "But Pansy, he-"

"Oh shut up," Pansy said sharply. She was in quite a disgruntled state, Harry noticed. Her hair was frizzier than normal and her Slytherin sweater had come mostly untucked from her uniform skirt.

"Potter," She suddenly snapped. "I've got a message from Professor Snape. He wants you to meet him in the hospital wing. Now," She added tersely.

"I-is this about Malfoy? Is he..alright?" Harry asked, feeling stupider by the minute. The Slytherins standing around Pansy made several snide remarks, sneering and hissing at him like the nest of snakes they were.

"You don't get to ask that question, Potter. They won't even let _me_ see him," She said shrilly, stomping her foot. She turned her pointy nose up at them and spun around to shove back through the Slytherins, apparently taking her anger out on her fellow housemates.

Harper and Nott looked too shocked at the unfair treatment to say much else so Harry, Hermione, and Ron hurried past them before they could gather their wits back together.

Forgetting he had just been cross with them, Harry exchanged anxious looks with his friends.

"What do you think Snape wants with me? I've already got detention with McGonagall for the rest of the week,"

"I don't know Harry. It's odd he's having you go to the hospital wing," She hugged the book she carried closer to her chest and clutched the bottom of her chin between her thumb and first finger.

"Do you think something bad happened," Ron said, gulping, "To Malfoy I mean? Do you think he...died?"

Harry felt the color drain out of his face as he considered the possibility.

Hermione gave Ron an exasperated albeit anxious look. "That can't be it. If Malfoy had died they wouldn't be sending for Harry to meet them in the Hospital Wing. Malfoy's family would have been sent for and they wouldn't want Harry present. That's just ridiculous. Plus they'd have a hard time keeping that from leaking, especially with Pansy and Malfoy's other friends trying to visit him every other minute,"

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry said, feeling queasy.

"I did wonder if Malfoy was even still in the hospital wing, though. Those rumors about St. Mungo's seemed believable,"

"Right, it looked bad enough to be shipped off for, didn't it?" Ron said, "I thought for sure I was going to see thestrals after-"

Hermione jabbed Ron in the side to effectively silence him and looked guiltily to Harry. "We know you feel responsible for what happened Harry, but it really wasn't your fault. I wish you'd stop sulking about it. Malfoy was the one who started the fight in the first place, remember?"

"I wasn't saying anything about it being Harry's fault! Why'd you elbow me," Ron said, exaggeratedly rubbing his side. Hermione gave him a stern McGonagall-like glare. Ordinarily, Harry would have found the banter amusing, but much like the past several days, he found himself more bitter than anything.

"I obviously didn't do it on purpose, but it's just like when we fought before. It doesn't change that it was my spell that caused the accident," Harry said.

"You've just got bad luck, mate," Ron said. "Or maybe it's Malfoy who's got the bad luck. Karma, right?"

Harry glanced between Hermione and Ron, biting his lip. "Well, actually, there was something I haven't told you both about what happened when I was fighting Malfoy,"

Hermione's brows rose in interest and Ron's eye's widened. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Don't tell me you really did mean to do it,"

Harry hit Ron's arm rather forcefully, "Come off it! You were bloody there!"

"Right, right," Run muttered, going red.

Harry looked around to check their surroundings before pulling both Ron and Hermione behind a stone arch in the hall. He thought about casting muffliato but knew Hermione would throw a fit if he used one of the Prince's spells in front of her. Instead, he huddled them closer and spoke quietly. "Something odd happened right before the chandelier fell. When I cast that final spell, I lost control of my wand. It was like my arm had a mind of its own and was aiming at that suit of armor on purpose. It felt like I'd been confounded. That's the only way to describe it,"

Hermione frowned. "But Harry, there was no one else in that hall but us and Malfoy. If you were confounded, who would have cast the spell?"

"I think it was Malfoy," Harry said immediately.

Hermione looked startled at his certainty, exchanging a bewildered look with Ron, "But Harry, why would he-"

"He was trying to kill me I think. Make it look like an accident,"

"Oh, but Harry that doesn't make any sense. He...he did save you in the end. Ron and I clammed up when we saw what was about to happen but he didn't. It looked rather, well... heroic," Hermione whispered the last word, as if speaking highly of Malfoy was akin to muttering a dirty sentence and ought not be overheard.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair roughly, overcome by frustration that Hermione had arrived at the same roadblock he had as well. He'd been brooding over the whole thing himself for days and couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"I dunno, maybe Malfoy did mean to kill Harry, but then chickened out last minute?" Ron said lamely.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We've known Malfoy for 6 years. When is the last time he's done something selfless for another human being? I find it hard to believe that Malfoy would ever choose to put his own life in danger, especially for Harry. No offense. I think we're missing something here,"

Harry shook his head, "Let's talk about this more when I get back. Maybe Snape will give me some clues to think about,"

Now that the taboo had lifted from the topic, Harry could see that Hermione and Ron were eager to keep the discussion going.

"Right, we'll talk more when you get back. Good luck," Hermione said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah, G'luck," Ron said, patting his shoulder roughly.

Harry parted ways with the pair and set off in the opposite direction towards the hospital wing. His stomach began to squirm uncomfortably with nerves. He was certain that he was going to have to face Malfoy. Why else would Snape have him go to the Hospital Wing?

What if Malfoy looked just as bad as he had the night Harry had last seen him? Chest crushed in and blood pouring from his mouth. What if the rumors were true and he really was in a coma? Or what if Ron was right and Malfoy really had died? Could Harry live with that guilt?

Body humming with dread, Harry pushed forward through the double doors of the hospital wing.

The midday sun was slanting in through the numerous windows to give the stark white room a blinding glow. All the beds were empty and crisply made. Harry blinked at the barren ward for a moment, confused, until he heard hushed voices coming from the far end of the room. There was a space divider set up around the furthest bed, shielding it from view.

As Harry traversed the space, he could begin to make out the shadow of two figures behind the white sheet. There was a tall, thin shadow standing beside a smaller form sitting forward on the hospital bed. Harry's heart sped up as he drew closer. The air went out of him in a quiet whoosh, a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. So Malfoy wasn't dead. He could hear the blonde's voice carrying towards him.

"- I didn't have anything to do with it, alright!" Malfoy hissed. "That Bell girl must have an enemy no one knows about!"

"I can only pray you're telling the truth, Draco, but you've let yourself become distracted. Why were you fighting Potter? You should be keeping your head down."

"I just lost my temper! It wasn't my fault,"

Snape gave a pause and a frustrated sigh. "I quite understand your father's imprisonment has affected you, but you can't allow yourself to lose focus, Draco. You know what's at stake,"

"I haven't lost focus!" Malfoy said scornfully. "My progress is moving forward. It's just taking a bit longer than I thought it would,"

"What are you planning, Draco?" Snape asked, his shadow moving closer to the figure in the bed. Harry held his breath and stood stock still, waiting for Malfoy to answer.

"It's none of your business," Malfoy said, to Harry's dismay.

"If you tell me what you're planning, I can assist you,"

"No!" Malfoy snapped. "I don't need your help. You just want all the glory for yourself! H-he gave this task to me,"

"You're speaking like a child! I swore to your mother I'd protect you, but you're making my job exceedingly difficult. Nearly killed on two separate occasions in one month! I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco-"

At that moment, Harry made the greedy mistake of moving forward to get within better earshot. His foot scuffed clumsily against the stone floor and Snape fell abruptly silent. The shadowy outline behind the curtain suddenly appeared in its full, towering glory. Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry, lip curling with fury.

"Were you eavesdropping, Potter?"

Harry looked quickly away as Snape tried to meet his eye. He never did figure out how to use Occlumency, "No sir! I just got here,"

Snape eyed him suspiciously but slowly turned and strode back behind the drape, motioning for him to follow. Harry scurried after, sweating a bit.

Malfoy was indeed present, and to Harry's relief, he looked more or less intact. One of his arms was hung in a sling and Madame Pomfrey was still in the process of healing the nicks and scrapes across his face, but his chest was no longer warped like it had been the other night. The Slytherin was glaring daggers at Harry as he entered.

"And tell me again, Professor, why you've invited Potter to my sickbed," Draco gave Harry a disdainful nod as if he were a table or a lampshade, not a proper human being.

"I've brought Mr. Potter here to find out exactly what happened to trigger your altercation the other evening," Snape said. "And I have been so kind as to delay this interview until you were well enough to give your testimony. Must I remind you that Madam Pomfrey was only able to revive you into consciousness this morning?"

Malfoy scowled, "No, sir,"

"Very well. Let's hear what happened then. Tell me exactly how your petty duel resulted in the destruction of a century-old chandelier, damage to an original Hogwarts mural, and your near death?" Snape said menacingly.

Harry gulped. The butterflies in his stomach were fluttering madly. He had already been serving detention with Professor McGonagall for the unsupervised dueling, but he hadn't told anyone the details of the fight or that it had been his spell to bring down the chandelier, confounded or not.

Snape was glaring between them expectantly. "Don't either of you have anything to say? What about you, Mr. Potter,"

"Err-, well, um... " Harry bumbled.

"It wasn't so complicated, Professor," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes ostentatiously, "I was heading down to the Great Hall for supper when I ran into Potter and his little sidekicks. They provoked me. Potter and I fought, and I do think I was wining, but a stray spell struck the chandelier. It was bad luck,"

Snape frowned at the Slytherin, lip curling with displeasure. "Who's spell was it?"

Harry thought his heart might stop. Here's where the truth came out. Would he be given detention every night for the rest of the year? What if he was expelled? Harry wiped clammy palms on his robes and opened his mouth to speak.

"It was my spell, Professor," Malfoy drawled.

Harry's mouth snapped shut in surprise.

Snape's face had gone red and he looked in danger of blowing an aneurysm. For once, his fury was not directed at Harry. The Defense teacher towered over Malfoy, "Detention,"

Malfoy's face paled. Clearly, he hadn't expected that reaction from Snape. "What!? But you can't give me detention! "I -I almost died!" Malfoy spluttered.

"I am your head of house, and you will take your punishment as is earned. You will serve detention with me every Saturday for the rest of the term,"

"But sir, isn't that when I'm scheduled for detention?" Harry piped in, hopes suddenly rising. Maybe Snape would cancel his detentions in light of Malfoy.

"You will _both_ serve detention with me every Saturday until the term ends. Is that clear?"

"But Professor, how can you... you know-" Malfoy looked suddenly panicked, "You know I've got to-" But Malfoy's sentence was clipped short as he burst into a violent fit of coughing. Snape's face pinched into a worried frown as he rounded the bed and placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

As if she'd been waiting for something like this to happen, Madame Pomfrey came bustling in behind Harry, nearly knocking him over in her haste.

"Severus, you said you wouldn't rile him up!"

Malfoy was gasping and turning blue by the time Madam Pomfrey shoed Snape out of the way. She braced her arm behind Malfoy's back and guided a goblet of potion to his lips, tutting all the while.

Malfoy shuddered after a few swallows and the coughing subsided, but it looked like the sudden fit had taken a great deal out of him. He slumped back into the pillows bonelessly, taking deep careful breaths as Madame Pomfrey waved her wand over him briskly.

When she was finished, the healer turned dangerously to Snape, looking much like a mother dragon protecting her egg. "You're lucky there's nothing too badly out of place. You know I've only just finished growing the boy a new set of lungs this morning! It's not like bones, Severus, lungs are a delicate business -all those veins and vessels, and even one set back..." Madame Pomfrey looked beside herself. "If it hadn't been for your request, I would have sent him straight to Saint Mungo's, oh yes. Oh yes indeed!"

If it had been any other situation, Harry might have found the look on Snape's face quite comical. He looked sour and properly chastised by the matronly healer.

"I think that's quite enough excitement for Mr. Malfoy today. The boy needs rest. You can finish this conversation tomorrow. Out. Out!" She said, all but chasing Snape towards the exit. Her shrill voice slowly faded as she led Snape from the infirmary, scolding him the entire way ("You should know better!") and suddenly, Harry found himself alone with Malfoy.

He stood planted at the foot of Malfoy's bed, feeling horribly out of place. Malfoy still had his eyes closed and head pressed back into the pillows, looking considerably unwell. Harry could see the potion Madam Pomfrey had given to Malfoy still sitting half-finished on the nightstand. It was a pretty color. A robins egg blue with white flecks peppered in like sprinkles.

"What are you still doing here, Potter?" Malfoy rasped, causing Harry to nearly jump out of his skin. Malfoy was peering at him from beneath heavy lids.

"Er- I was just...uh...H-how are you feeling?" He finished lamely, cringing at his own awkwardness.

"How am I feeling?" Malfoy perked up enough to gawk at Harry as if he'd said something uncommonly stupid, "Oh just peachy, Potter. I was nearly crushed to death by a two-ton piece of metal, broke more than half the bones in my body, and just finished regrowing a new set of internal organs this morning. How do you think I'm feeling? Merlin, are you really that daft?"

It was as if a cauldron had exploded in Harry's face. He blinked at Malfoy dubiously, "Sorry for asking. I forgot that you're an insufferable git for a moment. My mistake,"

Malfoy glared at him, "I asked what you were still doing here,"

Harry cleared his throat, working up the nerve to have what he was sure would be an extremely unpleasant conversation.

"Why did you lie to Snape?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder to make sure the greasy ex-potions master had not crept back up behind them. The infirmary was still quite empty

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy said indifferently.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You told Snape it was your spell that knocked down that chandelier. It wasn't though. Why didn't you tell him what really happened? I thought it was your life's ambition to get me in trouble,"

With what looked like a fair bit of effort, Malfoy pushed himself back into a sitting position, grimacing and tugging at the arm sling as it dug into his neck. He made a show of straightening the sheets over his lap before answering.

"My image, Potter," He said primly. "Can't have people knowing you nearly killed me twice. I'll start losing my reputation. People will think I've gotten weak,"

Harry opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again with a frown.

"Don't think too hard, Potter, you'll hurt yourself,"

"But why did you save me?"

The smirk fell off of Malfoy's face at that. He didn't have such a quick response but did manage a fairly classic scowl, blonde eyebrows knitting themselves together. "It's none of your business, Potter,"

Harry stepped closer to the bed, suddenly determined to get an answer. "You hate me, Malfoy, and you're a selfish cowardly git. You could have easily stood by and let that chandelier crush me to death. Why risk your own life?"

Malfoy's face was sullen as he glowered up at Harry. "A selfish cowardly git, am I?"

"Yeah, you are,"

The Slytherin's eyes flashed dangerously. "You're so narrow-minded, Potter. You think you've got everyone figured out and that you're the only noble person in this whole damn school. I suppose it never occurred to you that I was actually doing something decent by shoving you out of the way?"

It hadn't. Harry shook his head, practically laughing at the absurdity of it. "What? Are you trying to tell me you risked your life for mine because you were being nice? You of all people! You're really expecting me to believe that?"

"Yes, me of all people," Malfoy said darkly, "Can't have The Chosen One squished flat now can we? What would the Wizarding World do without their hero?"

Harry stood there, baffled. Malfoy was really sticking to this ridiculous story. He shook his head adamantly. "I don't believe you. You're hiding something,"

"You believe whatever the hell you want, Potter, I don't give a damn. Why the fuck did you ask if you didn't want to hear the answer?"

"I know you. You're not the type of person to-"

"You _don't_ know me, Potter," Malfoy said, cutting Harry off mid-sentence. "Don't come barging in here pretending you do,"

Harry gaped at the boy in front of him. "After 6 years of watching you be a stuck up, arrogant, bully, I think I've figured out the essentials, thanks very much,"

"And yet, I've managed to surprise you with this," Malfoy gestured down at his bandaged body with his uninjured arm. "If you know me so well, why didn't you see this coming, eh Potter? You're the one who made an enemy of me, don't forget. You pegged me as bad from the start, but ever consider that you're just a presumptuous ass? You think I'd never risk my life for someone else, or do something for the good of another but you're dead wrong. You don't _fucking_ know me."

Malfoy's grey eyes were pale and dancing with electricity. Harry was suddenly glad Malfoy was still too injured to rise from the hospital cot. He looked absolutely livid.

There was a rather long awkward silence as Malfoy seemed to settle down, hands unclenching from the white-knuckled fists they'd become. He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes, "Just use your puny brain, Potter. If you were to die while dueling with me what do you think would happen to my family? My father's just been shipped off to Azkaban for consorting with the wrong wizards. Even if it was your spell that did it, accident or not, The Malfoy name would never be the same again. I didn't have a choice,"

"And there's the truth. I _knew_ there was something in it for you,"

Malfoy gave him an irritated look, "I'm sorry I've got a brain and don't go blindly rushing after people who need saving like you with your bloody hero complex. Just because I had a reason doesn't mean it wasn't a decent one. I don't want myself or my family thrown to the dogs, for Merlin's sake,"

"Yeah, I get why you did it now. Slytherin's are always trying to save their own skin. I should have guessed,"

Malfoy stared at him as if he had three heads. "Are you really trying to villainize me right now? Are you really accusing me of doing wrong just because I didn't save you for the right reasons? You're fucking joking with me, right? Yes, the repercussions for me were factored in, but for your information, I wasn't just saving my own skin. I'm not evil, you know. I don't _want_ you dead,"

"Don't you? Considering the way your father acts, I'd have thought you were just picking up where he left off," Harry said, bristling despite the truth to Malfoy's words. He was, in a way, searching for something to cast a shadow across Malfoy's good deed. He didn't like being indebted to the Slytherin. It felt slimy.

"Don't bring my father into this. As much as you delude yourself into believing, we are not the same person," Malfoy said, running a hand through his hair once more in what looked to be a nervous habit. "So no, Potter. I think you're a right stupid blockhead and I really don't like you at all, but I don't want you dead. Kind of a nasty thing to want of another classmate isn't it? What do you think I am, a sociopath?"

Harry didn't say anything. If Malfoy had asked him the same question earlier he would have said yes, but now? He wasn't so sure. The way Malfoy spoke was unnerving. Either Malfoy was an incredible actor or he was actually telling the truth.

"What, cat got your tongue? Don't tell me it's because that's what you secretly want of me? Are you hacked off that I didn't kick the bucket properly?"

Harry could feel his cheeks heat as he stepped even closer to the bed, a flare of rage rising up in him. The blonde had to tilt his chin upward to look Harry fully in the face, expression defiant.

"Shut up, Malfoy! You know I didn't do either of those things on purpose- I would never! No matter how much you deserved it!" He spluttered furiously. "I'm not the bad guy in this room. You are! You're the one who's a Death Eater!"

Malfoy looked amused at Harry's outburst, smirking up at him assuredly. This only served to stoke Harry's temper further. He wanted to hit Malfoy, but he restrained himself. It wouldn't do well to punch a sick person in the face.

"Nice allegation there, Potter. Why don't you prove it," Malfoy said calmly.

"Alright, I will. Show me your arm,"

Malfoy's mask didn't budge. "No," He said simply.

Harry's eyebrows shot upward and he pointed an accusatory finger at Malfoy. "If you won't show me, that's proof enough! It means you're hiding something,"

"Do I again need to draw attention to your stupidity?" Malfoy motioned to the arm in a sling. It was his left and there was a hard cast molded to it. If Harry wanted to inspect the skin beneath, he'd have to break the whole wrap apart. He earnestly considered it too. Malfoy must have noticed the gleam in his eyes because he drew back slightly. "Don't get any ideas. I'm not a Death Eater, okay? Honestly, don't get your self-righteous knickers in a knot. You're always so easy to rile up, you know that?"

"Sod off," Harry growled.

Malfoy shook his head and laughed mirthlessly. "I'd love to, but if you hadn't noticed I'm rather bed-bound at the moment. Pomfrey thought my vital organs took precedence over my limbs, so my legs are still broken. Same story for the arm,"

Harry deflated as a twinge of guilt penetrated his anger. He took a steadying breath. "I'll ask you about your arm later, then,"

"Looking forward to it," Malfoy all but hissed.

Harry stood there glaring at Malfoy, who returned the hateful stare just as readily.

"Fine. I guess it doesn't matter why you pushed me out of the way," Harry said stiffly, shuffling a few paces back. He had gotten rather close to Malfoy in the heat of the moment. "Thanks, I guess,"

Malfoy's steel grey eye's flashed with surprise before he quickly lowered his gaze to his lap, cheeks filling with a tinge of color. "You shouldn't thank me, Potter. Once this war breaks out and _he_ comes after you, you'll wish you were dead,"

Harry shook his head. "I won't. Voldemort killed my parents and if I have any respect for them I won't go belly up. He tears peoples' lives apart. If I have a chance to face Voldemort, I'll end him for what he's done."

Malfoy hid his flinch decently and gave Harry a wary look, a somber air coming over him.

"Bloody Gryffindor," Malfoy finally muttered, voice sounding much more haggard than it had a moment ago. His stare settled out the window to Hogwarts grounds, a far off look in his eyes.

As Harry studied the other boy's profile, his own words echoed in his head. Voldemort really did tear peoples' lives apart. Though they'd stepped up for the slaughter, The Malfoy's were one of those families whose lives had been altered forever. Harry found himself wondering what it must feel like to have Voldemort threaten to kill your mum and dad if you didn't do what he asked. It was a terrible position to be in. Harry wasn't sure what he would do if he was faced with that scenario.

Harry was broken from his reverie as Malfoy suddenly cringed forward and clapped a hand over his mouth, consumed by another bout of coughing. Harry stood there uncomfortably, hoping the fit would end quickly but it seemed just as bad as the last. Malfoy was clearly struggling to breath.

Feeling alarmed, Harry stepped back to crane around the divider. "Madam Pomfrey!" He said loudly, but she still hadn't returned to the ward. Should he run and find her? But what if that took too long? He bit his lip, eyes falling on the potion sitting by Malfoy's bed. Without thinking, Harry stepped forward and grasped the cup.

"Malfoy! Hey!" He grabbed the blonde's surprisingly bony shoulder. Malfoy was making a horrible gasping sound and his lips were practically purple. "Come on, take it!" Harry had to help Malfoy hold the cup steady as he tipped it back, taking a few desperate swallows.

Harry stood by, heart pounding in his chest, as he watched the blonde slowly compose himself with deep hungry inhales, his color gradually returning to normal.

"You alright?"

"-yea -fine," Malfoy said thinly once he had breath to spare. He was cradling his abdomen with his unbandaged arm and looked like a kicked dog. "Haven't quite gotten used to the new lungs yet, I suppose. I think the liver and spleen are still settling in too,"

Harry couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. It was rather morbid humor. He awkwardly set the goblet back on the side table.

"Er- should I go find Pomfrey?"

Malfoy shook his head, "She'll be back to fuss at me soon enough,"

Harry sighed, taking in the Slytherin's weathered state. "Look, I'm sorry you got hurt because of me. I never wanted this. Either time," Harry said.

The blonde blinked at him, "Hm. Looks like neither of us hates the other as much as we once thought,"

Harry snorted. "I guess you're right. It's good to know you think enough of me not to want me dead,"

"Indeed," Malfoy said, fixing him with a stare. It wasn't hateful, or angry, for once. It was more inquisitive than anything. Malfoy straightened himself up, and like a switch, began exuding his classic arrogant air. "I accept your apology, Potter, but if you send me to the hospital wing one more time, I'll have to get a restraining order,"

Harry felt the pull of a smile at the corners of his lips. "Please do. If I don't have to see you for the rest of the year, I won't complain,"

Maybe it was the shock of nearly killing Malfoy on two separate occasions, but he suddenly realized he felt no hatred for the blonde, and this back and forth wasn't a fight. It was light banter.

How strange.

"You'd love that wouldn't you, Potter. Only problem is we'll be seeing one another every Saturday for the rest of the year now, won't we,"

Harry groaned, almost having forgotten about the detentions he still had to serve. "Oh, don't remind me,"

"I don't care about your torment, Potter. But me? I can't believe Professor Snape gave _me_ detention. The nerve of him,"

Harry sniggered. "You must have really irritated Snape considering you're in his house. I didn't think he ever gave detention to Slytherins,"

Malfoy let out a rasp of laughter, "Not true. I know you hate him, but Snape's not completely biased. He makes Crabbe and Goyle practically live in detention for their terrible marks. But for me, being in Slytherin does tend to help most of the time. Unfortunately, it looks like I've pissed him off enough for that not to matter," Malfoy leaned back into the pillows and coughed a few times into the back of his hand, looking pained.

Harry frowned and picked up the goblet of potion again, holding it out for Malfoy. Admittedly, the previous fit had been rather frightening and Harry wasn't keen on watching another. Malfoy took the cup from him, looking slightly bemused.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go on and finish it before you hack up one of your new lungs," Harry said.

The Slytherin raised his eyebrows in surprise but did eventually tip the cup back, draining the last few mouthfuls of potion. "Thanks, Potter,"

Harry took the empty goblet and set it aside, unable to keep himself from smirking.

"What are you laughing at?" Malfoy snapped.

"Nothing. I just never thought you and I could have a civil interaction,"

Malfoy hesitated as if considering his next move, but he eventually smirked as well. "Guess this is rather civil, isn't it? Let's not make it a habit,"

"Agreed," Harry said, finding himself grinning. Something had changed between them that Harry couldn't quite explain.

But still...

"Malfoy, what are you up to in the Room of Requirement?" He'd never thought to ask directly before this, but it seemed like such an obvious thing to do. Malfoy's face went pale at the question. He opened his mouth and for a moment, Harry thought he was going to tell him something, but then his eyes darkened as if a wall had been built up to block him out.

"As if I'd ever tell you, Potter," Malfoy said quietly. There was no anger behind his words, just weariness. Harry frowned, feeling disappointed but unsurprised at the answer.

Madam Pomfrey's heels could be suddenly heard clicking back into the infirmary. She appeared around the cloth divider moments later, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming broth. She looked surprised to see Harry standing there. "What are you still doing here, Mr. Potter?"

"Just leaving," Harry gave Malfoy a final look. The other boy was observing him almost curiously.

"Bye then," Harry said, making a hasty exit.

* * *

Apologies for Grammar and spelling issues I have missed! I did include a scene from the book (of Snape and Malfoy talking about the Unbreakable Vow) so will not take credit for it! Just to clear up confusion this story is set after Katie Bell was cursed but before Ron was poisoned (sometime before Christmas).

As always, Thank you for the reviews/follows/favorites! Anonymous, thank you for the detailed review and the tip off on some of the more obvious errors in the last chapter! I fixed them :)

~Until next time


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5 - Detention_

* * *

The hospital wing was quiet and glowed golden with the sinking winter sun. The steam rolling off Draco's freshly warmed soup swayed in the beams.

He scowled down at the chicken broth haughtily. If truth be told, he wanted nothing to do with the revolting liquid, but unfortunately for him, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him rest until he'd finished the whole damn thing, no matter how many times he threatened to upchuck on her floor.

Stubborn old sow.

Draco scooped up a spoonful and let it dribble back into the bowl with a sigh.

He had fallen into a particularly foul mood ever since Potter and Snape's lovely visit. But so what if he had? So what if his misplaced anger was being taken out on an innocent bowl of broth?

He deserved to wallow after such devastating failure. The perfect situation gone to waste.

His conditions had been met flawlessly. Potter had practically volunteered to duel, Granger and Weasley were the witnesses, and he'd been able to hijack Potter's final 'expeliarmus' with a simple confudus charm as easily as snapping his fingers. He'd admittedly almost crushed Potter with the chandelier, but that was beside the point. He'd successfully taken the fall in the end.

He shuddered as he recalled the pain. Never had he experienced such bone-breaking agony. If he was going to attempt suicide again, he would certainly have to drum up some renewed courage. Or at least find a more humane way to put himself down.

Going through all that without yield was infuriating. And he'd been so close by the sounds of it.

As per Madame Pomfrey his survival had been a damn miracle. Evidently, he'd arrested twice requiring heroic resuscitation measures, blown through a full cauldron of blood replenishing potion, been artificially ventilated for 2 days, and required a total of 5 organs regrown, not to mention several ribs which had been shattered beyond feasible repair. And that was before mentioning his broken limbs. Thankfully, he'd been comatose through the worst of it.

Draco set his spoon aside and pulled his wand from beneath the sheets. With a simple wave, the steaming liquid vanished. He sank back into the pillows with grim satisfaction. His entire life was spiraling, but at least he could still control whether or not he'd finish a damn bowl of soup.

His thoughts drifted idly to his conversation with Potter. He still couldn't believe The Golden Boy had muscled up and thanked him for saving his life. Malfoy snorted as he continued to absently twiddle his wand. Did this mean The Chosen One was indebted to him? That would certainly be a fun detail to loom over Potter's head. It might even come in handy a little ways down the road. Perhaps there was light in the situation after all.

Madam Pomfrey's heels clicked into earshot so Draco quickly hid his wand before she appeared around the screen.

She nodded at the empty bowl. "That wasn't so bad now was it,"

He wrinkled his nose and let her take the tray from his lap before she bombarded him with diagnostic spells.

The healer hummed approvingly once she was through. "Well Mr. Malfoy, your vitals are stable and I haven't heard you cough since finishing the final dose of Lung Regenerating Potion. I suspect that means those new lungs are fully matured. The liver seems to be up and running as well since you haven't become jaundiced yet,"

Draco cradled his midsection protectively. "You're testing the liver by waiting for me to turn yellow? Isn't that a bit reckless?"

"Nonsense. You're healing up perfectly. In fact, if things keep going this smoothly, I wouldn't be surprised if you're well enough to be discharged tomorrow evening or the morning after. It will all depend on how quickly those bones mend, of course. Now that you're stable, I think it's time we set to work on them, wouldn't you agree?" She bustled over to the medicine cabinet and produced a tall bottle carved in the shape of a skeleton.

"If I'm to walk out of here of my own volition I should hope so," Draco said acidly, grimacing down at his broken legs which had been braced and wrapped in the meantime. He would have to keep his guard up once his arm was healed and the cast removed. Snape had scolded him at length over how disastrous it would have been had he not been there to conceal the Dark Mark from view. It was also thanks to Snape that he hadn't been shipped off to St. Mungo's or dragged home by his parents. Draco should really be more grateful to the man, but it was hard to look past the detention he'd been handed. He shouldn't have bothered covering for Potter. He'd only done it in fear that Snape might have the Gryffindor expelled but in reality, the Chosen One was likely untouchable with the senile old Headmaster on his side.

Madam Pomfrey uncorked the Skele-gro and poured a large helping into a crystal goblet.

"Here you are now," She handed him the glass and watched expectantly. He had the strong urge to vanish this liquid just like he had the soup, but he supposed that would only be to his detriment. The first swallow felt like fire on his throat and tasted like a mix of chalk and rust. He coughed and pressed the back of his hand to his lips to keep from gagging.

Madam Pomfrey just tutted at him and topped off the goblet. "I'm afraid it doesn't taste like pumpkin juice, dear. Best get it over with quickly. The whole thing, now. You've got 7 bones to mend so you'll need every last drop,"

He set his jaw resolutely before tossing the whole goblet back.

* * *

"It makes sense now why he saved you," Hermione said, "I imagine he's right about the repercussions. The Ministry's been desperate to look productive. I mean, arresting Stand Shunpike has to be the height of desperation. After seeing that, I wouldn't put it past them to arrest Malfoy for harming you, even if he is a school-aged wizard. Being the son of a Death Eater would likely be good enough for them," She ladled a scoop of shepherd's pie for herself and handed the spoon to Ron who shoveled practically half of the serving dish onto his own plate.

The Great Hall sky was spitting snow and darkening with dusk but the tables were illuminated by a thousand glowing candles to make up for it, not to mention the twelve glistening Christmas trees lining the walls. It was only the first of December but Hagrid and probably a hoard of house-elves had already converted the castle into a life-sized Christmas card, tinsel and mistletoe included. Harry had to tread carefully these days with that hanging around. Ever since The Prophet had labeled him "The Chosen One," he was sure there were plenty of girls who would use it to their advantage.

"Hermione's right," Ron said, topping off his mountain-sized portion of food. "Now that you're the Chosen One, I imaging the Ministry would have a bloody cow if anything happened to you. It would have served Malfoy right, though. The idea of him sitting in Azkaban is quite nice, come to think of it,"

"A bit harsh, don't you think?" Harry chuckled and reached over to claim the meager portion of Sheppard's pie Ron had left for him.

"Nah, I reckon he deserves a few nights in a cell," Ron tucked into his food with the gusto of a man who hadn't eaten in days.

Hermione watched him with a mixed look of distaste and amusement before shaking her head, "It's still odd to me that Malfoy lied about bringing down the chandelier. It sounds as though he dug his own grave needlessly,"

Harry shrugged, "Well, Malfoy said he didn't want word spreading that I'd sent him to the hospital wing for a second time this year, which I guess is believable. Malfoy is a bit vain,"

"A bit?" Ron said around a mouthful of potatoes. "He thinks so highly of himself, I'm surprised his head hasn't exploded from all the hot air,"

Harry laughed while Hermione rolled her eyes. "So did you end up confronting him about your suspicion? You know, about being confunded?"

Harry swallowed his bite and gave her a sheepish look, "I forgot to bring it up, honestly"

"I don't blame you, mate. You were probably trying to get out of there as quickly as possible. I know I wouldn't want to prolong a conversation with Malfoy," Ron said sympathetically.

Harry paused as he stared down at his plate, ears heating slightly. He hadn't told Ron or Hermione how decent the whole conversation had been. He wasn't sure what to make of it himself, so best to ignore it for now. Things would likely return to normal the next time he ran into Malfoy, so no need to dwell on the exchange.

"Yeah, must have been it. He's insufferable," Harry cleared his throat, "I did ask him what he's been doing in the Room of Requirement, though. He didn't deny that he's been in there working. He just said he wouldn't tell me what it was,"

"Blimey, you just outright asked him like that and he didn't hex you to Timbuktu?"

Harry snorted. "No he didn't, but then again he wasn't in much of a state to be hexing anyone. He was still rather banged up. I actually tried to have him show me his Dark Mark but he had a cast covering the spot,"

"Oh Harry, isn't what just happened enough to deter you?" Hermione said with pursed lips. "You and Malfoy are like Mentos and Cola. You're bound to get yourself into more trouble if you keep meddling with him. I'm worried it's going to be you who gets hurt next time,"

"Mentos and Cola?" Ron said with a confused frown.

"Muggle stuff," Harry said hastily, "Listen, Hermione, I know you've got my best interest in mind, but I can't ignore this. I know if I do, something really bad is going to happen,"

Ron squirmed in his seat, looking balefully between the two of them. "I wish we could pass a pleasant evening without you two having a row. I'm just trying to enjoy my shepherd's pie in peace,"

"We're not having a row. If you two would just believe me, then this whole Malfoy investigation would be a lot simpler. Doesn't it concern either of you that Snape was offering to help him, or that he's made an Unbreakable Oath to Malfoy's mum?"

"Unbreakable Vow," Ron corrected.

"We believe you, Harry. There's no denying that Malfoy is up to something but the odds of it being for You-Know-Who is so unlikely. And Snape was probably just saying those things to get Malfoy to tell him what he's planning. He is the head of Slytherin House so if Malfoy's doing something that's against the rules, it's up to him to stop it," Hermione said.

"I disagree. I question which side Snape is really on,"

"Don't forget Dumbledore trusts Snape and it isn't our business to question him," She breathed wearily, "Look, all I'm saying is that it's not worth getting tangled up in. You've already earned yourself a terms worth of detention,"

Ron groaned. "Don't remind him, Hermione! Detention with Snape _and_ Malfoy has got to be the worst sentence there could possibly be. Those are the two worst people in the entire school. I think I'd rather be locked in a cage with two fully grown blast-ended skrewts and nothing but a wooden spoon as defense,"

Hermione practically choked on the milk she'd been sipping as she burst with a laugh. Ron looked bewildered for a moment before breaking into a smile, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

"Oh goodness, Ronald," Hermione said, wiping a tear from her eye, "It won't be that bad I'm sure,"

Harry looked between his two friends bemusedly. Ron continued to grin smugly as Hermione composed herself from the fit of giggles. There was definitely something between them. Harry had wondered if something like this would happen sooner or later. He also wondered if either of them had realized it yet.

He awkwardly lowered his eyes and continued eating as if he'd noticed nothing.

* * *

Saturday rushed at Harry too quickly, and soon, he found himself dressing blindly in the curtain-dark dormitory while his fellow Gryffindors slept blissfully on. His detention would begin at 9 am and Harry was sure Snape would do worse than make him sort flobberworms if he were late.

Quietly, Harry made his way out of the common room and trudged through the barren halls. Several portraits nodded at him sleepily as he passed, the overcast sky brightening the castle windows.

He entered the defense classroom with five minutes to spare. Snape and Malfoy were both already in attendance. They were standing near the chalkboard and looked deep in conversation, though they kept their voices too low to be overheard.

Harry was vaguely relieved to see Malfoy had made a full recovery since their last meeting. He held himself tall in an expensive-looking pair of olive joggers and a Slytherin-crested dark grey quarter zip which he'd tucked into his beltline. The casual outfit flattered Malfoy's slender form quite strikingly. Harry suddenly felt very shabby in the maroon sweater Mrs. Weasley had knit him last Christmas.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence, Potter," Snape said snidely as he realized Harry standing by the door. He gestured for Draco to take a seat. The blonde gave Harry a cold stare and slid gracefully into a chair near the front of the classroom.

Harry groaned silently in preparation for the impending torture and settled down at a desk in the second row. He and Malfoy waited in stiff silence as Snape disappeared into his storeroom before emerging with a tower of water-stained crates. He levitated the moth-eaten stack heavily down in front of Malfoy, who drew back with blatant repulsion.

"Filch was delighted to bring me these old files yesterday," Said Snape, "He's been needing the records of previous Hogwarts wrongdoers cleared out and I think this will be the perfect opportunity. You both with sort through each card and where the ink has faded or the parchment has been damaged by water or mice, you will copy the words on a fresh sheet. You will not use magic. Do you understand?"

"Yes professor," They muttered in unison.

The ex-potions master's lips curled into a malicious smile as his eyes skated over to Harry. "I thought you could begin with boxes one thousand and twenty-one and one thousand and twenty-two. You might even find some names you recognize, Potter," He pulled one of the cards from the topmost box, a thick puff of dust springing up after it. He read: "James Potter and Sirius Black, reprimanded for hexing Bartram Aubrey with a head growing curse. Head twice normal size. Double Detention,"

Harry felt his stomach sour as Malfoy peered back at him gleefully.

Snape looked triumphant as he stuffed the card back into place. "Isn't it good to know that though they are gone, their valiant memory still lives in these boxes?"

Harry felt his blood might boil. He clenched his teeth together to keep himself from saying something he would sorely regret.

For a good part of the next hour, the only sound filling the room was the scratch of ink pen on parchment and the ruffling of pages as both he and Malfoy solemnly sorted through their respective boxes.

Harry's stomach rolled each time he came across a name he recognized. _Sirus Black, skipping class. Detention. James Potter, hexing Severus Snape with a levitation spell. Floating upside down by the ankle. Detention._

It caused Harry quite a jolt when the classroom door behind them was briskly opened, shattering the library-like atmosphere.

"Ah Severus, there you are! Might you have a moment to assist me- oh!" Professor Slughorn paused mid-stride dramatically as he noticed Harry and Malfoy craning at him from their seats. "Hello Harry, my boy. Look sharp," His eye drifted to Malfoy who he gave a noncommittal nod. Malfoy scowled at the anticlimactic acknowledgment.

"I'm, sorry Horrace, but as you can quite see," Snape said smoothly, "I am currently preoccupied,"

Slughorn frowned and wheedled his thumbs beneath his suspenders. "I'm afraid my problem is a bit time-sensitive. You see, I've started brewing some herbicide for Pamona, but I don't seem to have any lionfish spines in my stock. Must be fresh out! I was hoping to raid the private store I'd heard you keep in your office. I'm sure you wouldn't mind parting with just a few pieces and it wouldn't take long. Come now Severus, I'm sure these boys can watch themselves for a few minutes," He gave Harry a jovial wink.

Harry turned to see Snape's reaction to the urgent summons. The black-haired man had adopted a bent lip as if his features couldn't quite decide between a scowl and a grimace. Slowly, he rose from his desk. "It seems you've left me little choice in the matter. Next time do be more aware of your ingredients before beginning a brew,"

Slughorn beamed and stretched his already too-taut suspenders happily. "That's the ticket, Severus! Quickly now, before the pot boils over!" The portly man turned on his heel and bustled out of the classroom.

Snape stopped at Malfoy's desk as he followed the exuberant potions master towards the exit. "See to it that you and Potter continue your task without incident,"

"Yes sir," Malfoy said firmly, and with that, Snape departed in Slughorn's wake, looking like a bird of prey stalking after a particularly fat toad.

The door closed behind the pair with a click and the silence was restored once more. Harry breathed out and closed his eyes, waiting for an insult to come. Now that Snape was no longer supervising, he was sure Malfoy would harass the living daylights out of him. Harry starred at the back of Malfoy's head, his shiny platinum locks catching the snow brightness from outside. The soft scrape of pen on paper resumed as Malfoy scribbled on.

"What, you're just going to keep writing?" Harry said after several moments elapsed.

Malfoy didn't turn around, "Yes, Potter. Unless you're deaf, you heard what Snape said. Continue without incident. I don't fancy extending this detention arrangement and I don't imagine you do either, so I suggest you follow suit. That is assuming you're not enjoying yourself back there. Are you having fun reading about your father's Hogwarts escapades?"

Harry bristled instantly. "Shut up, Malfoy. Don't even think about insulting my father,"

Malfoy threw a cheeky grin over his shoulder. "The thought never crossed my mind, scar head. Though he and his friends were downright hellions by the sounds of it. I think they ought to have a whole box to themselves for all the cards I've come across. Some of the stunts they pulled make the Weasley twin pranks seem amateur,"

"You're exaggerating. I've done just as many cards as you and they've only been mentioned three times at most," Harry grit out.

Malfoy shrugged. "Your box is a dud. I've seen their names on practically every other card,"

Harry's chair legs squealed as he stood and rounded the desk, "We're switching boxes, then. You have no business reading about my father,"

Malfoy laughed boldly. "Suit yourself, but don't look so miserable. Snape was trying to goad you, but honestly, you should be thanking him. How else would you get these first-hand accounts?"

Malfoy's cool eyes met his. As their gaze locked, a jolt of electricity shot through Harry's chest, stunning the retort right out of him.

Had he ever really looked at Malfoy before? Really looked at him, up close and properly like this? How had he never gotten lost in Malfoy's steel-gray irises before? They were pools of silver that practically glowed in the window light. It wasn't just his eyes that were captivating either. His features were softened beneath silk platinum locks that had been left casually loose around his face. His lips curved in an elegant swell, a pastel peach against porcelain.

There was no other way to describe it. Malfoy was bloody gorgeous. Harry gulped at the realization.

"I mean, come on. Some of this stuff is gold," Malfoy said, pulling Harry mercifully back to the present. Malfoy slid one of the cards with a single finger across the desk for him to read. Harry hastily let his eye's fall, feeling quite hot in the cheeks and determined not to acknowledge whatever the hell had just come over him.

He bent forward to make out the somewhat smudged ink.

_James Potter. Streaking through the Great Hall during breakfast mealtime. Stark nudity causing disruption and uproar amongst staff and students. Detention._

Harry looked up to Malfoy whose eyes were shining with genuine mirth. Feeling horrified, Harry swiped the card up, his cheeks flaming. Malfoy burst into laughter at that.

Harry hoisted up the offending box and stole it over to his table.

"We are switching," Harry said in finality, slamming his crate down in front of Malfoy to complete the swap.

"Oh come on, that one was hilarious. There's no need to get your hackles up. Do Weasley and Granger have to tread so gently around you? You're fairly prone to tantrums for someone who's almost of age,"

"I'm done talking to you. Just keep copying the bloody cards,"

Harry sat down in a huff and began angrily attacking a page, his pen pressed so firmly, he risked piercing the paper.

The peace lasted all but a minute.

"Potter," Malfoy said seriously. Harry reluctantly stopped writing and glared at the back of the Slytherin's shoulders, waiting for him to continue.

"What?" Harry finally barked.

Like a dog trainer, Malfoy held up a hand and motioned him over. Harry prickled at the audacity but curiosity got the best of him.

"Read this," Malfoy said once Harry stomped over.

He snatched the card out of Malfoy's pale fingers and read: _Sirius Black. Daring students to streak naked through the Great Hall for losing game of Exploding Snap. Three instances of improper nudity as a subsequent result. Detention._

Harry skimmed the card once more. He could practically picture it. The handsome young Black convincing his friends to agree to the terms and then watching havoc ensue as the Great Hall saw more skin than a Quidditch locker room. Harry had only witnessed a fraction of Sirius's playful side as an adult, but this was exactly how Lupin described the old days.

Harry found Malfoy staring at him intently. A single golden eyebrow arched upward. "Your father wasn't very good at Exploding Snap, was he?"

"I suppose he wasn't," Harry replied calmly.

A silent battle ensued as he and Malfoy fought to keep their faces emotionless, but Harry was losing. He tried to suppress the escaping laugh but it was no use. His undignified snort turned into a full-on fit.

Malfoy's overly serious composure cracked with his, and suddenly, both he and Malfoy were doubled up and simply shaking with laughter.

By the time they wound down, they were both clutching their sides and gasping for breath.

"Mercy, I haven't laughed like that in ages," Malfoy wheezed. "I have to say, Potter, your father and his friends have made this detention quite a bit more interesting. And to think you were sulking back there because of it,"

"Fine then, you're right for once. It's pretty cool to read about my dad," Harry said, taking his glasses off to defog them with his robe sleeve.

"For once? If you really knew me then you'd realize I'm right all the time,"

Harry rolled his eyes, "I somehow doubt that. Snape won't be very happy to find out his grand idea to torment me has backfired,"

"Best not let him figure out or he'll come up with something three times worse over. I know being discrete isn't the most Gryffindor quality but I'm sure you can manage," Malfoy gestured to the crates which Harry now realized were like little time capsules. He grinned, looking down at the card in his hand and fully appreciating it for all its goofy glory.

His dad had lived and so had Sirius. This was proof. And for some reason, Malfoy had been the one to point that out to him.

"I thought we weren't supposed to make this a habit," Harry said slowly. "You know, this 'being civil' stuff,"

Malfoy gave him a pointed look, "Civilizing you is not on my agenda, Potter, believe me, but if we're going to be trapped in a room together every weekend until the end of term, we might as well make the best of it. Now for heaven's sake, sit down before Snape returns and finds us off task,"

* * *

This update brought to you by: Quarantine (Sorry for the long gap between chapters!)

Thank you for reviews/follows/favs and apologies for Grammar/spelling issues I have missed.

Stay safe out there folks.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6 - Christmas_

* * *

The weeks seemed to pass at an alarming rate and soon winter break was upon them.

Dumbledore had promised to continue with Harry's private lessons, but thus far, the remainder of December had been dry. Harry's first two meetings earlier in the school year had been undeniably provoking, each involving a disturbing Pensive trip to the depths of Voldemort's roots, but as the weeks sauntered on, Harry was quickly becoming antsy for more. He wanted to be prepared for whatever was to come and couldn't help noticing how slowly his progress was plodding.

Detention with Snape was no longer keeping his mind off things, as it had become duller than a Binns class ever since they'd finished the boxes containing his father's era. Malfoy hadn't proved much entertainment either. He wasn't malicious towards Harry during the meetings, he merely treated him like he didn't exist, exiting and entering the Defense classroom without a word or glance edgewise.

That didn't mean Harry had stopped checking up on the Slytherin. He still kept the Marauder's Map with him at all times and opened it obsessively, but Malfoy seemed to be laying low. The Slytherin spent most of his time in the dungeons or doing ordinary things, like eating in the Great Hall and attending classes. The few times Harry found Malfoy unplottable were random and patchy.

It was as if he were consciously avoiding a pattern to keep from being followed and it was working, damn-it.

Why did Slytherins have to be so slippery?

"Are you sure you won't come to the Burrow, mate?" Ron said, bringing Harry back to the present. A smattering of cloaked students were steadily filtering out of Hogwarts and towards the Hogsmeade station where the train was waiting to cart them back to London. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were standing just beyond the doors in the brisk December air.

"And you know you could always come to stay with me in Hampstead. My parents would be happy to have you," Hermione's curly brown locks were peppered white with the flakes drifting lazily from the sky.

Harry smiled warmly at the two of them, "Thank you both, but I don't think I should leave Hogwarts right now. It's been a while since my last er- 'private lesson' with Dumbledore, so I think its best I stay available just in case,"

"Well if you've made up your mind, I guess I'll break the news to my mum. She'll be disappointed at first but I'm sure she'll get over it,"

"Tell Mrs. Weasley thanks for the invitation. And Happy Christmas," Harry added with a grin.

"Alright, I will. I'll send Pig out with your present, so if you find an overly excited ball of fluff outside your window Christmas morning, let him in," Ron gave Harry a firm handshake before turning to Hermione, his frost nipped cheeks going a shade darker. "-Er, and I'll send your gift by owl too, so watch out for it," Ron made an awkward jerking motion with his arms and took a half step forward, dancing indecisively between a hug and a handshake.

Hermione rolled her eyes and embraced him fully, causing Ron to comically stiffen before melting into her with dreamy eyes.

Harry masked his laugh by turning it into a series of dry coughs.

"Have a good break. And Happy Christmas," Hermione released Ron and hugged Harry as well. She braced his shoulders with her hands as she stepped back. "Harry, just be careful, alright? I'm sure you've noticed you're not the only sixth year spending holiday in the castle," Her chocolate eyes flicked to where a small cluster of Slytherins were huddled. Malfoy stood with folded arms as Blaise and Pansy bid their farewells. Crabbe and Goyle were already lumbering off towards the station, two dark hulking blobs against the snow-covered grounds.

Malfoy's name had been among the scant few marked on the list of students remaining on campus during break. Very troubling, Harry thought, considering Malfoy usually boasted over his luxurious vacations at the manor.

"A part of me wonders if that's half the reason you've decided to stay," Hermione said suspiciously.

"Well, no...not really. But I mean, while I'm here, I might as well keep an eye on him," Harry said, tugging at his maroon and gold stripped scarf guiltily. It was true, after all. The extra opportunity to investigate Malfoy had indeed been a large factor directing his decision, but he wasn't going to admit that to Hermione. Not when both she and Ron believed him half-looney for his persevering loyalty to the _Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater_ theory.

She shook her head and sighed as if she knew the truth. "Just don't do anything reckless, okay? We'll see you in a few weeks,"

And with that, Ron and Hermione set off to join the excited throng before their darkening figures disappeared over the hill.

Harry found his eyes traveling back across the ground to where the Slytherins had been gathered. Pansy was the last one to linger but she had finally departed with the rest of the students, leaving just one solitary Slytherin behind, a sinewy figure in night-black trousers and a handsome olive cloak buttoned tightly to his throat.

Harry's breath caught in his lungs as Malfoy turned and looked his way at the same moment.

Their eyes locked like magnets snapping together.

A sudden gust kicked up, slanting the snowfall and sending Malfoy's platinum hair swirling. Even from a distance, Harry could see the storm in his eyes, which were dark like charcoal today. Harry's stomach lurched as he glimpsed a shadow of the broken Malfoy he'd found sobbing in the bathroom many weeks ago but it vanished like a ghost with the dying wind.

The Slytherin composed his features into a sneer and let out a huff of mist before turning back towards the castle, olive cloak billowing out behind him.

Harry shook his head to clear it before making his own way back inside.

* * *

Christmas morning came and just as Ron had warned, Pigwidgeon woke Harry with a frantic window tap dance that ended with a dramatic feathery finish as he tumbled onto Harry's pillow the instant the pane was pulled forth.

Ron had gotten Harry a miniature model of Galvin Gudgeon, the Chudley Canon's seeker, while Hermione had sent him a box of Chocolate Frogs and a container of broom polish with a much more composed tawny-colored barn owl. Of course Ms. Weasley had knit him a new sweater, this one a striking emerald green embroidered with a golden snitch across the chest. She'd sent it back with Hedwig who had delivered Harry's gifts to the Burrow. The snowy owl was now perched and happily crunching on her Christmas gift, a large container of gourmet owl treats.

Harry wore his new sweater to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner, which involved an indulgent lunch passed cozily at one long table large enough to seat everyone who had remained at Hogwarts, both students, and teachers alike. Hagrid was pleasantly drunk by mid afternoon with Flitwick soon to follow. McGonagall had disapproved at first, but after quite a bit of cajoling and several cups of wine, she became just as red-cheeked as the rest of them. Harry couldn't say it was a bad way to spend Christmas. There were only a total of 7 students remaining in the castle. Himself, two Hufflepuffs, three Slytherins, and one Ravenclaw. All of them had attended the dinner except for one.

Malfoy.

With a mixture of curiosity and duty forcing his hand, Harry excused himself from the festivities early, unable to keep from investigating Malfoy's absence a moment longer.

He scooted past the blatantly tipsy Fat Lady who was accompanied by her friend Violet after giving the password (Banana Fritters) and walked through the barren common room and up to his dorm. He had the entirety of Gryffindor tower to himself, being the only one in his house who hadn't gone home for Christmas. It had felt lonely at first, but certainly made it easier to repeatedly check the Maurauder's Map without being judged a paranoid crack-pot by his friends.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Harry said with a wand tap to the blank sheet of paper he'd pulled from his trunk.

The map of Hogwarts bloomed into existence, the ink spreading edge to edge like spilled water. Harry unwrapped one of the chocolate frogs from Hermione and bit into it carefully as he scanned the castle for the little dot he'd become so familiar with. Harry frowned as he searched the Slytherin dungeon with no sign of Malfoy. He quickly filed through the rest of the map to no avail.

That could mean only one thing. Malfoy was in the Room of Requirement. "Damn," Harry said, setting aside the half-eaten frog. Just when he was starting to let his guard down.

* * *

Malfoy gazed up at the skylight which was blanketed white with snow. The Room of Requirement surprisingly had many windows. They allowed dust-peppered sunlight to slant in lazily, illuminating the mountains of hidden items. He wasn't sure if they were real windows or if it was simply a clever spell. It was very convincing, if that was the case. The architect undoubtable deserved some applause.

He let out a long sigh.

What a depressing way to spend Christmas. It had been physically painful to watch his friends leave for the holiday and had overwhelmed him with searing jealousy. He wanting nothing more than to go with them. To embrace his mother and hide from it all. Unfortunately for him, returning home for break had not been an option. The Dark Lord would surely not have been pleased if he'd found Draco galavanting to the manor for frivolities while Dumbledore was still alive and well.

So the alternative was this. Of course, he'd been invited to attend the feast in the Great Hall, but he would rather eat his own wand than suffer through such a gathering.

He twiddled idly with the tuning pegs of the rhythm guitar he'd found amongst the room's discarded items. He'd had to mend a crack in the body and replace several strings, but it had a nice enough sound now that it was fixed up.

Draco strummed through a few chord progressions, marveling as the music echoed through the cathedral-sized room. It had brilliant acoustics.

Learning an instrument had been a requirement in the Malfoy household. Part of a well-rounded education, so they said. His father hadn't been pleased with his instrument choice, preferring piano or violin, but had grudgingly allowed it once he'd seen Draco's knack for the thing.

It had been ages since he'd played, but the shapes and fingering came back to him like riding a broom.

In the spirit of the holiday, Draco fingered through _Cast a Christmas Spell_ before blending the notes to become the gentle march of _Silent Night_. His father wouldn't tolerate muggle music, but his mother secretly loved the carol. He recalled playing it for her last Christmas before a cozy fire in the den.

Draco's heart ached at the fond memory. He hadn't known that would be his last happy Christmas. If things went according to plan, he'd be dead by this time next year. The music crumbled at the realization, leaving a penetrating silence in its place.

Draco laughed dryly and used the back of his hand to scrub away the wetness on his lashes.

How morose.

He resituated himself on the stool he'd perched upon and leaned into the dusty guitar, setting his fingers back on the strings.

He should have been working on the cabinet or planning how he might next try to die, but it was Christmas and he needed a break. He began to play, soft and timid at first, then more boldly and intricately as he worked the rust from his fingers. He wove the notes together to form a sorrowful melody, so deeply despondent, it would likely bring even a Minister to tears. He didn't stop once the song was finished, he simply bled it into the next as he forged onward, some from memory, and some from imagination. He told stories of broken hearts and lost lovers, of missed connections and tragic endings. After some time, he began to sing too.

He filled the whole room with music, all lungs and strings and tapping feet.

The noise was enough to stir up a nest of cornish pixies. Five or six of the little winged creatures peered down at him curiously from atop a tower of old classroom desks as he sang.

He played and played until his voice was hoarse and fingers aching.

The snow-covered skylight was darkening by the time he let the room fall quiet, the entire day having slipped past.

Draco stood from the stool and gave his tiny audience a bow. The pixies chittered and dispersed in a flurry as he set the guitar aside and stretched out his shoulders. He was stiff from sitting too long and suddenly realized how hungry he was. Dinner was likely over in the Great Hall, but it was no matter. He'd just nick something from the kitchen on his way back to the dungeons.

More from habit than anything, Draco found his feet carrying him through the shambolic labyrinth until he stood in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. It cast an eerie shadow in the fading light.

He clenched his jaw as he worked the door of it open, running his fingers over the runes he'd carved into the paneling weeks ago. He'd come to the room plenty of times since then but hadn't yet worked up the courage to press any further.

Draco scowled as he pulled the doors open wider, picturing his misery all stored up in the age-worn case.

A wave of reckless frustration suddenly stole over him.

"Oh fuck it,"

Draco pulled his wand from his back pocket and brazenly stepped inside, vaguely aware of how stupid he was acting. He shouldn't be using himself as a live test subject but what was the worst that could happen? He snorted. That he would die?

He was already planning to do that anyway.

Draco pulled his entire body into the cabinet and closed himself in until the fading light was swallowed up completely.

Draco breathed uneasily as he turned to face the back wall, his anger driven resolve wavering as he waited for something to happen. It took a few heartbeats, but slowly, the tingling pull of magic began flowing tangibly all around him. It tugged wantonly at his navel. He closed his eyes and let it coax him forward, the wall before him evaporating like mist. The silence pressed in on him hugely, as he stepped forward, magnifying the sound of his breath and the oddly resonant echo of his footsteps.

He opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. He was standing in a limbo of sorts. A void. There was nothing around him but blackness.

And to think Montague had been trapped here for a whole day.

Draco shivered and gripped his wand tighter as he moved forward, unnerved by the lack of visible flooring. After several nerve-rattling minutes, a thread of light gleaned into view, growing steadily closer the further he went. Palms clammy, Draco broke into a run the last few meters, and then suddenly there was visible wood beneath his feet and a wall behind him. Draco gasped as he came to a stop inside the cabinet, but this time was different.

Gathering his wits about him, he took a steadying breath and leaned forward to peer through the keyhole.

He could see shop shelves and glass display cases laden with dark forbidden objects. His eyes widened. He was not in Hogwarts any longer. His chest swelled with blind pride over the accomplishment.

He'd done it. He'd actually done it!

He was about to let out a whoop of childish triumph but the sound caught in his throat as a gravelly voice from within the shop drifted towards him.

"-said it was a family heirloom. Must be worth a small fortune, if I had to guess,"

Draco gulped in surprise and melted against the back of the cabinet, heart pounding. What the hell was Borgin doing keeping his shop open this late? And on Christmas, mind you!

"Perhaps not a fortune, but a few sickles, no doubt," Draco recognized Borgin's voice answer grudgingly.

"How about a few galleons for a special customer like me?" The second, rougher voice said with a slimy sweetness. There was a shuffle of heavy boots and a startled squeak from the shop keeper.

"G-galleons then," Borgin said.

"That's more like it. You see, ordinarily, I wouldn't need the coin, but these days I've got a pack to support. The meat to keep them full doesn't cost much, seeing as The Dark Lord's given us free rein to hunt, but they drink more ale than a hoard of dwarves,"

Draco felt the blood drain from his face as he realized who the second voice belonged to. It was Fenrir Greyback.

"Of course. I completely understand," There was a clinking of coins as Borgin began the money exchange. Draco silently began probing the paneling, pressing against it firmly as if he might be able to physically force his way back into Hogwarts.

Why the hell wasn't the link opening up again?!

"Oh, I'd say it's worth a few more than that, Borgin. These are genuine rubies, after all," There was a grunt and a few extra clinks.

Draco waved his wand frantically, trying a series of nonverbal spells which did nothing to convince the cabinets to communicate. He was trapped.

_Think, Draco, Think._

"Wait," Greyback said gruffly, and there was a clatter of gold on countertop as Borgin took in a sharp inhale.

"Isn't this enough without flat out robbing me?!" The shop keeper said indignantly.

"Not that. I heard something,"

Draco froze in place, every hair on his body prickling with adrenalin. His thick swallow was louder than a howler in his ears. His heart was the size of the watermelon and louder than a drum.

_The runes. _Draco thought suddenly, taking a silent steadying breath. He had to calm down and keep a level head or he would surely be found. _I need to carve the runes in the sister cabinet to solidify the connection. That's it._

He would have to do it from memory. He closed his eyes and conjured up the page of Spellman's Syllabary in his mind's eye as best he could. He raised his arm with painful care until his wand was pointed at the sidewall of the cabinet, sweat beading at his hairline.

"It must have been a rat," Greyback said in a dismissive tone, "Now where were we? Yeah, that ought to do it," The shift of coins was dulled, likely gathered into a fabric pouch.

With the background noise as a veil, Draco let a gentle beam ebb from the end of his wand, singeing the lines of the first rune into the wood. It was sloppy work. It had taken him nearly a quarter of an hour to whittle out the symbols the first time, but he didn't have that luxury today. It didn't help that his hand was shaking.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Borgin said, sounding as if it had been the exact opposite of a pleasurable experience.

"You did the right thing. Always best to stay on the good side of a werewolf. Wouldn't want to be an enemy of us when we're feeling snackish," Fenrir laughed throatily. The sound made Draco want to gag. He finished the second rune and began on the third.

"Quite. Now if that is all, I do think I'll be closing up shop-"

"Shh! Do you hear that, Borgin?"

"I can't say I do,"

Greyback drew in several shallow snuffling breaths through his nose like a mutt on rotten meat, "That's not a rat,"

Damn the mangey wolf's sharpened senses. Draco grit his teeth but didn't stop. He was nearly finished the final rune. A little line of smoke curled up from the wood with the last scorch mark.

"You think there is someone hiding in my shop?"

The sniffing was growing louder and there was the distinct thud of heavy boots nearing.

Draco pressed all of his weight against the back wall and clenched his eyes shut, rattling off the activating incantation in his head.

_Work, goddamnit! Work!_

Draco's stomach leaped into his throat as the back of the cabinet suddenly gave way. There was just enough time to glimpse hair covered knuckles wrenching open the cabinet before the scene fell away.

Draco hit the ground hard as he tumbled out of the other cabinet and into a heap on the dusty floor of the Room of Requirement. His heart was about to explode and there was a stabbing pain in his right hip, but it was forgotten by fear.

"Finite Incantatum!" He shouted, wand pointed wildly at the cabinet. A deep gouge slashed the wood, splitting the carefully carved runes in two. The cabinet sighed as the magic drained out of it, restoring it to the ordinary, ugly, tasteless piece of furniture once more.

Draco clutched the stitch in his side as he staggered to his feet.

He reeled towards the exit and fled as if a pack of werewolves were snapping at his heels.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thank you to everyone reading thus far and a special thanks to the folks who left reviews (Shout out to Tea33, AveRomani, rosabell14, and the Anonymous person who leaves very detailed comments on each chapter- so nice of you all!).

I have no idea how long this fanfiction will end up being but I have a vague plan on how I want to bring it to the end of HBP, so we will see if I can get there! It definitely helps to know I have a few people waiting for new content. I'm sorry the updates are so patchy! Hopefully the next few chapters will come a bit quicker! The next chapter will contain the real beginning of the Harry/Draco romance so hang on tight.

As always, apologies for the grammar/spelling issues I missed.

Thanks again, and continue to stay safe in these unprecedented times!


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_\- _Dark Marks and __Dittany_

* * *

Harry had been sitting vigil over the Room of Requirement for quite a length of time now. Three hours, to be precise. His ass was properly asleep and he was certain his back would reprimand him later for it, too.

The invisibility cloak rendered him non-existent to those in passing, which so far had included a rosy-cheeked Filch singing sweet Christmas tidings to his cat, a mischievous Peeves, and oddly enough, a deeply engaged Slughorn and Sprout who had walked past at a gentle pace, hand in hand.

It was amusing to watch the passers-by at first, but it had been some time since there had been any movement in the seventh-floor corridor. Harry must have been going cookey from the monotony because for a period of time, he could have sworn he heard music leaking from the wall before him. The camber of it was very sad and very beautiful, so much so Harry nearly didn't believe his mind capable of conjuring such a melody on its own.

However, that delusion had ceased and the sun had set several hours ago.

Harry now found himself viscously fighting to stay awake, head-nodding towards his chest every few minutes. He wasn't sure how much more waiting he could take. His camp-out had thus far been stoic but the allure of his cozy bed was growing difficult to ignore. The stone floor beneath him was unyielding and cold and crumbled his resolve all the faster.

Harry was just preparing to wave a white flag when a great mahogany door suddenly materialized on the wall, jolting him violently to attention as it was thrust open with a _bang. _Malfoy came pelting through it like a bat out of hell.

There was no time for Harry to move.

He still had the invisibility cloak on so Malfoy couldn't see him sitting there directly in the line of fire.

With nothing else to do, Harry braced himself for impact just as he and the Slytherin collided. It was not a graceful affair. Malfoy yelped in surprise while Harry grunted as he was kicked squarely in the shin before Malfoy came crashing down on top of him, effectively pinning him to the floor in an unceremonious pile of flailing limbs. The invisibility cloak was inevitably sent askew despite Harry's best efforts.

Malfoy looked around wildly for his assailant before finding the part of Harry's face peeping out from under the cloak.

"Potter?!" Without his usual grace, Malfoy shoved off Harry and stumbled to his feet, wand whipping out in a frantic sweep. He angled it threateningly, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry managed to produce his own wand and point it in defense but he was in a terrible position to fight back and his eyes were still streaming from the blow to his shin.

"Trying to find out what you're up to in there," He said gruffly.

Malfoy looked at him with wide eyes, breath coming too fast, but finally, he let out an exasperated huff and dropped his wand away from Harry.

"Merlin, you really are stalking me," Malfoy stumbled backward until he met the wall where the door to the Room of Requirement had vanished. He slid down to the floor and tilted his head to rest against the stone, eyes closed and shoulders heaving.

"I'm not stalking you!" Harry said indignantly, ripping the invisibility cloak off himself fully and springing to his feet.

Malfoy cracked an eye open, looking unimpressed by his tenacity. "Don't bother pretending. I've seen you creeping along in my wake all year long. It's bloody annoying. And don't act like it's a coincidence you stayed at Hogwarts just like me. I know you could have taken a jaunt to the Weasley's rabbit den,"

"Fine then. I am stalking you! I know you're up to something in there and I'm going to find out what it is before you hurt anyone else. I know you're the one who cursed Katie Bell!" Harry accused wildly.

It was a crisp-clear winter night and the crescent moon shined brightly through the windows. Malfoy's skin looked like white marble in the beams. "I didn't do it, Potter. Give it a rest. I'm not in the mood tonight,"

Harry stomped over to the Slytherin, determined, "I don't care what you're in the mood for and I'm not going to leave you alone. It's my duty to stop you from hurting anyone else,"

Malfoy bowed his head and sighed, breaths finally leveling. "For the last time, I'm not going to hurt anyone,"

"Then what the hell are you doing in there? And what the hell's wrong with you? Why do you look like you've just witnessed a murder?" Harry was towering above Malfoy in what had to be quite a threatening stance, however, Malfoy was unbothered. He simply looked up at Harry with bland apathy, as if fraught with much larger worries than the enraged Gryffindor fuming before him.

The realization deflated Harry slightly.

"It's none of your business, Potter," Malfoy said simply. "So now what? Was your grand plan to wait here all night for me to emerge, and then interrogate me? It's not working out very well for you, is it?"

Harry was glad for the dimness. His cheeks had likely turned a dashing Gryffindor-red. "Er -I dunno. I guess I didn't expect to actually catch you,"

"Brilliant planning. And we're supposed to believe you're the one who's going to defeat You-Know-Who? I worry for the fate of wizardkind,"

Harry glared down at Malfoy, "At least I give a damn. And to be frank, I don't really care what the prophecy, or you, or anyone else says about me. It's like I told you in the hospital wing. I'm going to defeat Voldemort for reasons of my own, not because of some psychic reading. And if I have to start by stopping you, then I will!"

"So is it really true then?" Malfoy scoffed, voice thick with scorn as if to hide his genuine curiosity. "Are you really _"The Chosen One"_?"

"Yeah," Harry said truthfully. "I am,"

Malfoy's eyes were so pale they glowed in the silver light, piercing Harry like an archer's arrow. He wondered what was going through Malfoy's head to produce such an intense gaze, and might have stayed frozen by the icy stare all night if not for the sudden sound of footsteps echoing into earshot.

"Shit! Someone's coming," Harry rushed to gather up his invisibility cloak.

The hall was gradually brightening as the walker approached. Orange beams ebbed and flowed with a lantern's sway.

There was no time to hide. Acting under panic, Harry dove down to Malfoy and draped them both with the silky veil. He could hear the Slytherin's surprised inhale as the concept of personal space was completely tossed to the wayside.

Harry immediately began berating himself as he crouched awkwardly over Malfoy. Why the hell had his first reaction been to dive down to aid his enemy? It should have been every man for himself.

His and Malfoy's legs were practically entwined and their faces were mere inches apart. Harry resolutely kept his gaze trained on the floor, refusing to make eye contact with the Slytherin. The soft puff of Malfoy's breath against his collar bone sent every hair on his body bolt upright. He tried to ignore how nice Malfoy smelled. Like freshly pressed cotton, and broom polish, and expensive cologne of rainwater and rosewood.

The walker was just behind them now, the lantern illuminating the sheer material of the invisibility cloak fully. Harry couldn't keep from peering up at Malfoy as he was enveloped in the light. The Slytherin was watching the passerby intently, expression taught, studious almost.

_Fuck. _Harry gulped, the same odd realization surfacing just like it had the first day of their shared detention. Malfoy was bloody beautiful. Even more so up this close. He belonged on the cover of a magazine with that skin of flawless ivory and orchid petal lips. The perfect slope of his nose was criminal and those damn eyes. Harry's heart fluttered uncomfortably and the strangest feeling of warmth flowed through his entire body.

What in the hell was wrong with him!?

With immense self-control, Harry forced himself to follow Malfoy's gaze just in time to see the menacing shape of Severus Snape swoop by. The ex-potion master's pace didn't falter and he wore a troubled expression. He clearly had no inkling that two students were out past curfew and crouching just feet from him. The lantern light faded as Snape continued on and finally disappeared around a corner, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone once more.

They spent several tense breaths in wait until the boot-clad footsteps were no longer audible.

"That's a nice cloak you've got, but the coast is clear. You can get off me now, Potter" Malfoy said stonily.

"-Er right," Harry disrobed the cloak and began shuffling back, but as he did, his foot caught on Malfoy's. He would have thought nothing of the accidental jostle had Malfoy not yowled like a cat who's tail had been tread on, so loudly, Harry feared Snape might come rushing back to investigate the commotion.

"Shh!-what the hell's the matter?" Harry reached to the floor for balance and froze as his palm splashed into something warm and wet.

He fell back on his rump clumsily and retracted his hand, surprised to find blood on his fingers. It looked black as ink in the darkness.

Malfoy had gone a pasty grey color and clutched his leg painfully.

"You're hurt?!" Harry hissed, stuffing the invisibility cloak away and rising to his knees for a better look, "Why didn't you say anything? Christ, Malfoy, there's so much blood!"

Malfoy just cursed and pushed Harry away before heaving himself from the floor, relying heavily on the wall for assistance. There was a startlingly large puddle of blood where he'd been sitting. Harry jumped to his feet alongside him and watched as Malfoy gingerly tested his right leg's ability to hold weight.

"What the fuck," Harry said as the Slytherin vanished the red with a flick of his wand as if it were a crime scene.

"Quiet down, you bumbling idiot. You don't have to lose your head over a scratch,"

"A scratch?! You look like you've been stabbed! And where do you think you're going?" Malfoy had begun limping off, leaving a very conspicuous pattern behind him, every other footstep marked by blood.

"To the hospital wing, obviously," Malfoy spat.

Harry took a few hurried steps to catch up. "Right. I'll run ahead and get Madame Pomfrey-"

"No!" Malfoy whisper-shouted, grabbing Harry's sleeve to keep him still.

"What?" Harry hissed in frustration.

"I don't need that matronly healer getting involved. She'll ask too many questions,"

"As she should. Now let me go,"

"Potter!" Malfoy gripped him insistently. "You owe me,"

"Excuse me?"

"I saved your life, remember? You owe me!" Malfoy repeated stubbornly.

Harry gaped at the Slytherin who had become sweaty and winded by the few short meters he'd managed to span, "Are you joking?"

Malfoy released Harry's sleeve and winced, bracing against the wall. "Just- just help me to the hospital wing, alright? That old bat keeps her potions in a stock cabinet in the ward and I'm sure there's Essence of Dittany in her supply. I don't need Pomfrey's fussing to take care of this,"

Harry stared at the blonde in disbelief but Malfoy was bloody serious.

"My God, I can't believe I'm agreeing to this,"

* * *

After an extremely cumbersome trip through the castle, Harry found himself all but carrying Malfoy through the hospital doors and helping him onto a bed nearest the large glass hutch of medicinal potions. Malfoy was a wreck. His right pant leg was completely saturated and his ghostly complexion was death-day worthy. Harry was honestly surprised the blonde hadn't fainted en route.

Harry grimaced down at his own robes, coming to the disturbing realization that this was his third time wearing Malfoy's blood that year.

"Alohamora," Harry unlocked the cabinet and began sifting through the numerous potions by wand light.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Malfoy panted behind him, "Accio Dittany,"

A dainty bulb-topped vial of amber-colored liquid came shooting out of the cabinet, practically taking Harry's left ear with it.

"A little warning next time?" Harry said irritably, closing the cabinet.

The Slytherin ignored him. Unabashed, he undid his belt and gingerly slid his trousers to the floor. Harry nearly choked as he stared at Malfoy's half-naked form. The Slytherin wore a pair of silk grey boxer briefs that hugged him perfectly. The right side of the fabric was stained black with blood, reminding Harry that now was not the time to marvel at the sinewy muscles of Malfoy's upper thighs.

Harry cleared his throat. "D'you, er- need any help?"

Malfoy's hands were shaking as he fumbled the cap of the vial which doubled as a glass pipetting wand.

"Hold this," Malfoy said prudently. Harry bustled forward and took the opened Dittany vial as Malfoy positioned himself on the side of the bed. He carefully pulled the right side of his boxer waistband down, hissing as the fabric peeled away.

"Good lord," Harry's stomach twisted as he caught sight of Malfoy's hip. There was a crater of flesh missing from Malfoy's upper leg, and though the wound didn't look terribly deep, it was large, only half exposed without Malfoy completely stripping his boxers. It looked like a muggle surgeon had scooped out the skin with a scalpel. It was as if he'd been splinched in an apparition accident.

Malfoy squeezed a droplet of Dittany onto the wound, a cloud of green-grey smoke billowing upon contact.

"_Fuck,_" The little pipet clattered to the ground as Malfoy practically convulsed with pain. Harry rushed forward as Malfoy went from taut-muscled to boneless, suddenly slackening in a dead faint and nearly sliding onto the floor.

"Malfoy!" Harry awkwardly heaved the limp Slytherin fully onto the bed. "Malfoy! Wake up! Wake up or I'm fetching Madame Pomfrey! I'm serious!" Harry whispered loudly.

Malfoy moaned and his eyes flickered open. His face was completely colorless and shining with sweat. "Don't even think about it, Potter," Malfoy breathed. "Just look. It's already half-way healed,"

To Harry's amazement, Malfoy was right. The bleeding had stopped on the top portion of the wound and a thin layer of skin had formed, making it look days-old.

"Wow. That stuff's amazing," Harry bent over and gathered the applicator from the ground.

Malfoy looked at it with white eyes and swallowed dryly.

"Do you... do you want me to do the rest of it?"

Malfoy nodded after a moment's pause.

Hesitantly, Harry moved forward as Malfoy worked his waistband further down, exposing the rest of the wound but also quite a bit of skin. He kept his front from showing but there was no hiding the back, considering the wound extended partially onto the ample swell of flesh.

Never in a million years would Harry have predicted such a situation. The site of Malfoy's bare ass in the moonlight was almost paralyzing. Damn-it all, Harry cursed internally.

Wound aside, it was a nice ass.

"What are you waiting for?" Malfoy growled. "Stop staring and get on with it already,"

"Right," Harry blushed deeply and peppered three drops onto the open wound which sizzled angrily and coughed up more smoke. Malfoy moaned into the blankets and bit the back of his knuckles, but commendably managed not to faint. By the time the smoke cleared, the bleeding was completely staunched and the wound closed. It looked like it would leave a nasty scar, though.

It took Malfoy a while to compose himself and even then, he still trembled from the ordeal. He slid his boxers back into place and righted himself slowly, seeming to battle a wave of vertigo on the way.

"You look like shit, Malfoy. Are you sure you'll be able to walk out of here tonight?" Harry said, thankful the blonde had covered himself.

Malfoy spelled the stains from his pants and slid them back on shakily, keeping one hand on the bed at all times. "A blood replenishing potion certainly wouldn't hurt,"

"I suppose there's some in here?" Harry opened the medicine cabinet again, " -Er, Accio, blood replenishing potion," A heavy crystal decanter zoomed into his hand, though there was hardly any liquid inside, barely enough to wet the bottom.

"Looks like Madame Pomfrey hasn't got much on hand," Harry said, offering the container to Malfoy.

The Slytherin shrugged and drained the entirety in one go before lowering himself into the bed, looking quite ill as he settled back into the pillows. "Its better than nothing. In any case, it should be enough to have me on my way in just a few minutes,"

"If you say so," Harry frowned and gestured to Malfoy's leg, "So, I take it you're not going to tell me how you managed that?"

"No, so don't bother asking," The Slytherin said definitively.

Harry sighed. "You could act a little more grateful, you know. You're lucky I was outside of the Room of Requirement. Snape would've definitely caught you if I wasn't there, and if he hadn't, I doubt you would've made it up here on your own. You might've just bled to death,"

"Well call me Irish and kiss me,"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can't even have a serious conversation, can you?"

"Oh I could, but I don't want to,"

Harry groaned. "Fine. If you won't talk to me or tell me what you're up to, will you at least acknowledge that whatever you're doing is dangerous? I mean, look at what happened to you. For a Slytherin, you seem to be acting exceedingly reckless,"

Malfoy rubbed the space between his eyes, looking annoyed. "Is this some kind of lecture? That's rich coming from you. Mr. Harry Rush-Headlong-Into-Danger Potter. Mr. Basilisk-Slayer, Mr. Tri-Wizard-Tournament. Mr. Department-of-fucking-Mysteries,"

"I wasn't saying I'm a great example but that's not the point! Being reckless is a stupid thing to do. It gets people killed if you aren't careful," Harry swallowed hard, thinking of Sirius. "What I'm trying to tell you is that you can still decide to do the right thing. You can choose to stop this -whatever it is,"

Malfoy scowled. "That's what you think, Potter, but it's not that simple,"

"I think it could be. I'm trying to reason with you here,"

"Is that what you're doing? I think you just sound like an ass advising me over something you don't understand,"

Harry could strangle the blonde. "You are absolutely insufferable,"

"As are you. I guess some things never change,"

Harry sighed in frustration and plopped into a chair aside the hospital cot, wondering why he'd even tried.

Malfoy was like a feral cat in some ways. Skittish and leery and ready to fight tooth and nail the moment anyone got too close, all the while unaware that the ones approaching were only trying to help. Harry had, after all, been attempting to give Malfoy a chance to surrender. Though he'd hated the blonde for 6 long years, he was bitterly beginning to realize that the longstanding passionate emotion had somehow twisted into this absurd give-a-fuck attitude. He was loath to admit he actually cared about the Slytherin. A small part of him didn't want Malfoy to be the bad guy. If Harry could somehow save him from depravity, he would.

A quite sigh perked his attention, drawing his gaze to the blonde in question. Malfoy's eyes were closed and his chest had begun to rise and fall in a steady rhythmic pattern.

Harry's expression softened. Malfoy had fallen asleep. Such a vulnerably human thing to do in the midst of an 'enemy.' He must have been wearier than he was letting on to have unintentionally drifted off like that. His face was strangely innocent appearing without it's trademark sneer, relaxed and unlined and handsome as a painting.

Harry pursed his lips. Maybe he was able admit that he cared about what happened to Malfoy, but he was not ready to acknowledge this strange new attraction.

His eyes trailed to Malfoy's left arm which was splayed limply beside him, palm skyward and fingers flexed passively.

Curiosity suddenly beckoned Harry as he stared at Malfoy's cloth-covered arm. The temptation was untamable.

With slow care, Harry leaned forward and tugged at Malfoy's sleeve experimentally, watching closely for any signs of awareness.

The other boy did not stir.

Harry sucked in nervously and set his jaw. This could be his chance to discover the truth. Was Malfoy really a Death Eater or were Ron and Hermione right? With bomb-defusing delicacy, Harry began sliding the fabric up the pale column of Malfoy's arm.

His heart jumped into his throat with the first glimpse of black ink, hardly believing his eyes. At that moment, he wished his hunch was wrong. He didn't want it to be true.

The snake's head was unearthed first, followed by its slender knotted body woven through bone and teeth. The skull came last. It's gaping eye sockets were yawning maws, deep and bottomless. Gravity pressed in on Harry enormously as he leaned back into his chair, the Dark Mark exposed and staring up at him evilly. It seemed to writhe with motion just invisible to the human eye, giving the snake an eerily life-like quality.

He'd suspected this all along, but the actual sight of it made him sick to his stomach.

What had Malfoy gotten himself into?

Harry gasped with the shocking realizing that the Slytherin's eyes were no longer closed. They glowed bright as wand light and tracked Harry like a hunted animal. Malfoy's expression was bereft of readable emotion but he parted his lips and spoke.

"This wasn't a choice, Potter. It isn't simple," He said, "But so it goes,"

His words chilled Harry to the core.

* * *

Thank you for the reviews/follows/favorites! You all inspire me. Anonymous, your lovely detailed comments always make my day. I hope I continue doing you right!

Apologies for missed grammar/spelling issues, as always.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8- Frozen_

* * *

"...tter -Mr. Potter...Mr. Potter!"

Harry woke with a start, levering upright so violently he nearly tipped his chair over backward. He straightened his glasses and blinked, surprised to find himself in the daylight-illuminated Hospital Wing. There was a puddle of drool on the sheets where his head had been laying, but aside from that, there was no evidence that anyone else had occupied the hospital bed before him.

No blood or wrinkles or empty decanters.

Malfoy was gone.

"What in the world are you doing here Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey asked dubiously.

"-Er..sleep walking!" Harry burst out with, bolting to his feet. He hurried from the hospital wing, leaving a very confused Madame Pomfrey in his wake.

* * *

Harry stuffed the map into his pocket as he spotted the person he'd been searching for sitting on the East edge of the lake, just like the little black drop of ink. It took Harry a good quarter of an hour to wade through the foot-deep snow built up from the last few snow storms. The Hogwarts Grounds had effectively become an arctic tundra over the past several weeks.

The wind was biting.

"Hey! Malfoy," Harry called, stomach squirming with nerves. He wasn't sure of how Malfoy would receive him after what had happened the night before. He was likely not pleased with Harry for discovering such a secret.

Harry trudged to the end of the dock where the Slytherin was perched, feet dangling above the frozen lake. He peered up at Harry, cheeks nipped pink by the cold.

"So you're just stalking me in broad daylight now?"

Harry plopped himself heavily beside Malfoy, relieved by the typical sarcastic response, "Yup,"

Malfoy frowned. "How the hell did you even find me?"

"I -erm, saw you from Hagrid's," Harry fibbed hastily, smoothing down his cloak pocket where the blank Marauder's Map was folded. He didn't need Malfoy investigating his tracking methods. The sly git would probably figure it out if Harry wasn't careful.

Malfoy gave him a sideways glance but accepted the lie. "Alright then, second question. What the hell do you want?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Harry said incredulously, "You think I'd just let you be after what I saw last night?"

Malfoy snorted, "So is this what you've decided to do, then? Glue yourself to me like Drooble's Best? Until death do us part?"

Harry flushed, "If it's what I have to do to keep you from carrying out Voldemort's dark bidding, then yes," His eyes flicked down to where Malfoy's Dark Mark was hidden. The other boy clutched the spot subconsciously and gave him a sullen glare.

"I don't understand you, Potter," He spat.

"What?"

"You know what, you ass. Are you just toying with me? Why haven't you run off to McGonagall or the bloody Headmaster to share your discovery?" Malfoy said angrily.

Harry gave pause. It was a valid question. He pursed his lips and looked out across the lake. "I've decided not to. For now, anyway,"

"Why?"

Harry sighed, his breath coming out as a thick mist. "Because if I did, I think you'd be expelled,"

"Isn't that the point?" Malfoy hissed.

Harry took his eyes from the distant tree line and looked at Malfoy. The blonde was tense and watching him wearily, like a fox staring up the shaft of a drawn bow. Frightened, but too proud to panic. Harry considered his position of power as he formulated a response.

"You know I overheard everything you told Moaning Myrtle all those weeks ago," Harry answered slowly, "That's why you were so angry, right? You were ready to cast an unforgivable on me just because I'd heard something I wasn't supposed to,"

Malfoy's adam's apple bobbed against his green striped scarf. He didn't deny it.

Harry continued. "Based on what you said that night, if I went to Dumbledore and you were expelled, Voldemort would kill you and your family, wouldn't he?'

It was Malfoy's turn to let his eyes drift across the lake. His gaze was so sharp it would probably cut steel.

"Oh yes. Without hesitation,"

Harry sucked in a breath. He'd known the truth but it was harder to hear it confirmed so resolutely. "Then that's why I won't tell,"

Malfoy's brow knitted. "So let's get this straight. You don't want me expelled because that will get me killed, but you aren't going to let me continue working on my mission?"

"That's right," Harry said, tilting his chin up in affirmation, "I'll do everything in my power to stop you from making any more progress with whatever the hell Voldemort's told you to do. No matter if I have to tail you all day and all night for the rest of the year,"

The Slytherin rolled his eyes sardonically. He scoffed, "You're not making sense. You do realize that not finishing my mission is just as much a death sentence as being tossed out? So it's die now or die later. What's the difference?"

"-Well maybe there's an alternative. I've been thinking...what if I can help you find a way to escape instead? I mean, it can't be impossible and we have time to make a plan. It's not like Voldemort can touch you while you're here at Hogwarts, right?" Harry said in a hurry.

Malfoy looked genuinely shocked for a moment before shaking his head, "Simmer down Golden Boy. I know your Gryffindor senses are tingling, but I'm not your next rescue mission, alright? And you don't need to worry about tailing me. I'd already made up my mind to call off the mission before you came butting in,"

"Really?"

Malfoy gripped his left forearm tightly, "Just because I've got this ugly mark doesn't mean I'm going to bow down and be a good little underling. The Dark Lord has ripped my life to utter shreds so I've just as much reason as the rest of you to want him gone,"

"But if you'd already decided that, why were you holed up in the Room of Requirement yesterday? And how are you planning to evade Voldemort?"

"We're not friendly, Potter. Why would I tell you?"

"We could be," Harry said with a shrug.

Malfoy's eyebrows disappeared beneath his bangs. "Have you gone mad?"

"I think you should let me help you,"

"Do you know how absurd that sounds?" Malfoy said with a smirk. "We've literally been enemies since the first day we met. And moreover, this is an odd time to start getting chummy. There's never been a time when we were _more_ polarized. You're the bloody _Chosen One_ and I'm an officially appointed Death Eater,"

"But you're a shit Death Eater," Harry said with a grin.

"Fuck you, Potter,"

"It was a compliment!"

Malfoy laughed. Genuinely chuckled. The sound gave Harry a strange sense of satisfaction. He felt like he'd been working with an ice pick and finally managed to crack a layer.

"Just think about it, okay? And don't do anything stupid in the meantime. Now I'm going back to the castle. It's bloody freezing! How long have you been sitting out here anyway?" Harry wiped the snow from his behind as he stood and trudged back onto land.

"Aren't you coming?" He called over his shoulder.

The next thing Harry heard was a great splintering splash. He whipped around in surprise.

"What the hell?" Harry stared at the spot where Malfoy should have been. It seemed he had vanished into thin air. Alarmed, Harry hiked his robes up and bounded back onto the dock. He came to a stop where the planks ended and peered over the edge.

"Shit,"

There was a disconcertingly Malfoy-sized hole in the ice, black churning water sloshing up over the edges.

"Shit, shit, shit," He cursed, watching the water settle with no sign of the Slytherin. Knowing there may be little time to spare, Harry ripped off his gloves and frantically unfastened his cloak before tossing it aside and moving down to his boots. He was nearly ready to dive in when Malfoy suddenly broke the surface, spluttering and coughing as if he'd hauled himself from the very bottom of the lake.

He doggy paddled clumsily to the shelf of the ice hole and clung to it meekly.

"Malfoy! What the hell are you doing down there?!" Harry yelled.

The blonde looked up with chattering teeth, hair plastered to his head. "I thought I'd just take a quick dip since the weather was so nice. Merlin, what does it look like? I fell in! Now stop standing there like an imbecile and help me!"

Malfoy slowly took in Harry's discarded cloak and unlaced boots. "You weren't getting ready to jump in, were you? You're a bloody wizard, Potter! Your wand! Use your wand!" The ice Malfoy was gripping chose that moment to crumble, sending him back under for a split second before he came up again, cursing and splashing. The ice further out was thick enough to hold a boulder but it was fairly thin around the dock's shelter. Malfoy struggled to tread water against the weight of his robes until he found another edge that agreed to hold him.

"Right, right," Harry squatted down to his cloak and fished his wand from an inner pocket.

But what spell should he use? He wracked his brain. The dock was set about 6 feet above the water so he couldn't do something as simple as lower a rope.

"Sometime t-this decade, P-Potter," Malfoy said, trembling from the cold.

"I've got it!" _Levicorpus!_ He thought with a triumphant flick of his wand. The effect was instantaneous. Malfoy was cartwheeled upside as if someone had tied a rope around his ankle and tugged. The Slytherin's squawk of surprise was doused as he was dragged beneath the water ass over teakettle before levitating high enough for Harry to reach out and grasp the hem of his robes.

With a great heave, Harry hauled Malfoy into his arms.

_Liberacorpus! _The counter spell sent them both sprawling to the snowy dock in a sopping heap, Malfoy coughing and choking. Harry helped the blonde right himself and pounded his back until he spat up a fair amount of lake water.

"You did that- on purpose," Malfoy accused breathlessly.

"I swear I didn't! That was the only spell I could think of!"

Malfoy gave him a withering look.

"How the hell did you fall in, anyway?"

"I s-stood up t-too quickly," Malfoy said, shivering. He used his teeth to peel off his dripping mittens before cupping his hands to his mouth and blowing with a pained grimace. His fingers were pale as bone.

"So you fainted?"

"No. Malfoy's don't faint,"

"Swooned, then?"

"Sod off, s-scar head. I was dizzy and lost my b-balance," Malfoy growled. He didn't look so menacing when he was shaking harder than a frightened toy poodle. If only Hermione were there. She'd be able to conjure a magical fire, or likely knew a spell that dried clothes. Unfortunately, Harry knew nothing of the sort.

"That's what you get for sitting out in the cold after losing all that blood yesterday. And here I thought Slytherin's were known for their common sense," Harry stood up and held out his hand. "Come on. You've got to get up to the castle before you turn into an icicle,"

Malfoy glared at Harry's offered hand and staggered to his feet on his own accord, robes heavy and dripping.

They set off silently, treading the lake's perimeter towards the twinkling castle together. Harry kept discretely peering over his shoulder to make sure Malfoy wasn't falling behind. The longer they walked, the slower Malfoy's pace seemed to grow.

They had just made it past the broom shed when Harry looked back to find Malfoy sunken to his knees, whole body quaking with rigors.

"B-bloody, h-hell," Malfoy stammered as Harry quickly backtracked to his side, a surge of guilt flooding him. Malfoy's drenched cloak was beginning to freeze in places and was undoubtedly chilling him faster.

Without asking, Harry bent down and began unfastening the ice-encrusted clasp at Malfoy's throat.

"H-hands off, P-Potter. What the h-hell do you t-think you're d-doing?" He said through clattering teeth.

"Helping you," Harry said, undoing the buttons all the way down. Malfoy gasped as the wet material was peeled away before Harry bundled him with the Gryffindor-red cloak from his own shoulders. He next grasped Malfoy's wrists and stuffed his dry mittens over Malfoy's colorless hands.

"There. Now hurry up before the sun sets completely and it gets even colder," Harry shivered a bit himself. The damn wind seemed to be picking up.

The rest of the journey was short but unpleasant as Harry, cloak-less, carried Malfoy's sopping coat in one arm while concomitantly keeping its cold-clumsy owner from landing face-first in the snow. The blonde's coordination rivaled that of a whiskey-drunk sailor by the end of it.

Harry thanked the heavens above when they finally staggered into the entrance hall, Malfoy leaning heavily against him, blue-lipped and body humming with shivers.

"We need to get you to the hospital wing. I think you've got hypothermia," Harry said.

"No. I'm f-fine," Malfoy undraped his arm from Harry's shoulder and groped for the wall to sag against.

Harry gestured to Malfoy's posture in exasperation. "You've got to be kidding me. You can barely stand on your own!"

"I'm not going to the hospital wing. That's f-final. Just need to get to my dorm -out of these clothes," He said brokenly. It seemed to take every ounce of effort to straighten himself. He only made it three steps towards the dungeons before losing his balance. Harry predicted the fall and caught Malfoy by the waist.

"I'll just carry you there myself if you refuse," Harry threatened. "This is ridiculous! What do you have against the hospital wing!?"

"I'll hex you, P-potter," Malfoy said, a slur to his speech. "Damn this dizziness,"

Harry bit his lip, fairly certain he could overpower the other boy if he needed to, but he didn't fancy dragging the Slytherin kicking and screaming through the castle either.

"Fine. If you won't go to the hospital wing, at least come up to my common room so I can help. I don't think you're in much of a state to do anything for yourself. I'm the only Gryffindor who stayed for holiday so no one would notice,"

Malfoy moaned, "At this point, I don't care. Just not the hospital wing,"

Relieved they'd come to a compromise, Harry shouldered Malfoy's arm, the whole scene extremely reminiscent of the night before.

"It's one thing after another with you," Harry muttered under his breath.

The Fat Lady was fortunately still too hungover from Christmas to be concerned with Harry smuggling in a Slytherin and swung her portrait open with no objection.

Malfoy was disturbingly quiet as Harry lead him through the circle entrance and over to the fireplace. He carefully lowered Malfoy onto the carpet in front of the flames.

"Now stay here and -er, I'll get you something to wear,"

Malfoy blinked up at him apathetically, which Harry took as "alright then I'll wait here,"

Harry pelted up the steps and rummaged through his trunk, grabbing a warm-looking sweater, a pair of sweat pants, thick woolen socks, a mound of blankets, and, with a stroke of genius, a half dose of pepper-up potion leftover from a recent cold. Arms full, he skipped two steps at a time to get back to the den.

"I know these aren't your colors, but they're really warm so I think they'll do..." Harry's sentence trailed off as his eyes fell to Malfoy who was lying motionless in front of the flames, sprawled and limp as if downed by a stunner. His skin was mottled blue in the dancing light and he was still as stone.

Harry fumbled the pile of things onto the couch and rushed to his knees aside the blonde, hovering fretful hands over Malfoy, almost afraid to touch him.

He looked dead.

What if he was dead?! The longer Harry stared at Malfoy's chest the more he realized he couldn't discern a rise and fall.

"Malfoy, hey, -Malfoy!" Harry finally shouted, shaking the Slytherin's shoulders in a panic.

To his great surprise, Malfoy swore eloquently and cracked his eyes open. "-hell's the matter with you? D'you frequently assault sleeping people?"

"Oh thank God. For a minute I thought...never mind," Harry said, feeling obscenely awkward.

Malfoy's brow furrowed in confusion as he studied Harry much too intently for the Gryffindor's liking. He finally opened his mouth and spoke, "Y'know, your eyes look really green when you blush like that. I've never noticed them before. They're nice,"

"Excuse me?" Harry spluttered, the blush likely deepening three shades after a comment like that.

Malfoy looked both unfazed, and unaware that he'd said anything out of the ordinary. He just sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "It isn't fair,"

"What isn't fair?"

"That you get to be _The Chosen One_ and be bloody good looking at the same time," He slurred tiredly.

"Y-you think I'm good looking?"

"You are, Potter. D'you even own a mirror?" Malfoy reluctantly opened his eyes again to peer at Harry. He frowned, "Hm, maybe not, judging by the state of your hair. It could really stand to be brushed. Nice color, though. Very dark and sultry,"

"Sultry!?"

"It means devilishly attractive," Malfoy mumbled, letting his eyes close once more.

"I know what it- oh God. Look. Malfoy. You're not in your right mind. We've got to get you warmed up and out of those wet clothes,"

Malfoy did not bother opening his eyes to respond, "Mm, very tempting but I usually don't do that sort of thing on the first date,"

He looked dead again after laying still for a few moments.

"Great, just great," Harry muttered, leaning forward and undoing the buttons down Malfoy's front. After that, Harry suffered quite a struggle to disrobe the uncooperative Slytherin, first from the Gryffindor cloak, then from the sweater and button-up beneath which were sopping wet and clung to Malfoy like a suction cup. The pants were the worst of it, seeing that Harry refused to catch a glimpse of anything he shouldn't. He incommodiously blanketed Malfoy's bottom half while stripping off the wet trousers and undergarments before working on the dry replacements.

Malfoy didn't seem to care either way. He was boneless as a fish through most of it, skin like ice to the touch despite the heat of the hearth. Harry was beginning to worry. Perhaps he should have dragged the blonde to the Hospital Wing after all. Harry was no healer, but if Malfoy was cold enough to be mentally altered, it had to be serious.

Why else would he be complimenting Harry? It was completely insane.

Malfoy whined as Harry finally propped him upright against one of the cushy armchairs near the fire. "Alright Malfoy, I need you to-"

"You _need_ me?" Malfoy slurred.

"-I _want_ you to drink this. It should help warm you up," Harry grit. Damn Slytherin. Sarcastic to the hilt even when half frozen to death. He uncorked the vial of Pepper-up potion and held it out.

"I can't. I don't feel well," Malfoy moaned pitifully, eyes barely open.

"But this will make you feel better," Harry bargained, as if with a child.

Malfoy reluctantly allowed Harry to press the vial to his lips, throat working as he took a swallow of the peppery potion.

"That's dreadful," Malfoy coughed, a puff of steam issuing from his ears. The potion's effect was visibly noticeable, drawing a tint of color into Malfoy's face after just a few seconds. The blonde blinked around the common room more lucidly after a moment, looking as if a heavy fog had lifted. He hugged himself and shivered soberly.

"Are you...better?" Harry asked.

"No, I'm cold," Malfoy grimaced, clutching his head. "And I feel like I've got an awful hangover,"

Harry handed Malfoy the vial of Pepper-Up potion. "I think you'd better finish this,"

Malfoy took it from him, trembling. He greedily accepted the blanket Harry draped over his shoulders too.

"Merlin, I'm in the lion's den, aren't I?" Malfoy said, looking around the room with a hint of distaste.

"You agreed to this, remember?"

"I'm not sure I do, but I'm also not sure I care," Malfoy set the empty vial aside and gingerly lowered himself onto the carpet before burrowing beneath the blanket in a quivering ball.

Harry settled his back against the couch and drew his arms around his legs, basking in the odd reality that Draco Malfoy was currently laying beside him like a cat curled before the fire. Harry strictly suppressed the odd swell of fondness, a completely ludicrous thing to be feeling for his rival.

"Malfoy?" Harry tried after a span had passed.

When the other boy didn't answer, Harry peered over the edge of the blanket curiously. As he'd suspected, Malfoy was already asleep.

Harry sighed and shook his head before covering the Slytherin with another blanket, finding the motion downright preposterous. He was tucking in his 6-year-Slytherin-enemy, for goodness sake, and in the middle of Gryffindor Common room, no less. If Ron and Hermione could see him now they wouldn't believe their eyes.

The civility was not supposed to be a habit but it almost seemed impossible to avoid at this point.

* * *

I'm a terrible fanfictioner -it takes me so long to upload. So sorry! As always, apologies for grammar/spelling issues I missed.

Thank you so so so much for follows/favs/reviews. Anonymous, you rock and I hope you know this.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9 - Mistletoe_

* * *

Draco was sitting on the edge of the dock with Potter aside him. Their feet dangled above the frozen lake as they looked out towards the craggy tree line. The sinking December sun painted the skies pink and purple and brilliant orange. The cold's teeth grew sharper as the sunlight drained away. Draco shivered.

"I think you should let me help you," Potter said firmly, his breath a cloud of mist, "We'll find a way to evade Voldemort and save your parents together,"

The Golden Boy spoke with such stone-set certainty, Draco nearly believed him. He desperately wanted Potter's words to be true. He wanted to be saved. He wanted to escape Voldemort without killing anyone and he didn't want to die.

Mercy, he didn't want to die.

"Would you really help me?" Draco asked quietly, eyes falling to his lap where black knit mittens covered trembling hands.

_Please, say you will. _Draco prayed, but Potter didn't respond. He simply burst into a cackling laugh, high pitched and unnatural.

Alarmed, Draco looked over to the Gryffindor to find his face contorted with uncharacteristic cruelty. The expression was all wrong, lips twisted with mirth and eyes glinting red. His features had changed somehow. They were wickedly sharp, reptilian almost. For a split second, Draco could have sworn it was Voldemort seated by his side.

He inhaled sharply as Potter's laughter broke off abruptly.

"Of course I wouldn't help you. How stupid and gullible can you get?" Potter spat, "Why would I waste my time on an insufferable git like you? I've got a world to save and you're nothing but Death Eater scum,"

Draco tried to draw back but Potter was freakishly strong and suddenly upon him, hands fisted through his robes. He heaved them both violently upward. The clasp of Draco's cloak bit into his windpipe as he was lifted from the dock.

Potter dangled him dangerously over the edge.

"N-no! Unhand me!" Draco begged, fingers clawing against the fabric at his throat.

Potter began laughing once more.

"You should act more grateful, you know? After all, I'm doing you a favor. You're better off dead,"

The person holding him was no longer Potter. He was staring at a mirror image of himself. There was a lighting scar beneath his blonde bangs and he wore black-rimmed glasses and Potter's Gryffindor cloak.

"It's a noble suicide," The warped clone said with a grim, toothless smile before throwing him backward.

Draco shattered through the ice. The force of it jarred his bones and pummeled the air from his lungs and then the lake swallowed him whole. It pressed in on him hugely and dragged him down, down, down.

Draco shouted out for help but the water ate his voice greedily and then rushed down his throat to take his air as well.

"Oh Draco," Voldemort said with deep disappointment. The black lake currents had morphed into the frayed billowing robes of The Dark Lord. They engulfed Draco fully. Choking him. Drowning him. Draco's heart clenched with fear as the ghost-white face emerged from the darkness, slits for nostrils and red, cutting eyes.

"I always knew you'd be a failure. You're worthless. Pathetic. It's time for you to die,"

* * *

Draco woke with a gasp on his lips, chest heaving and heart racing.

He looked around frantically, confused by the absence of his four-poster bed. Red banners with gold embroidery and squared stonework lined the room. There was a red squishy armchair at his back and a glowing hearth to his left chock-full of burned down embers pulsing orange behind the grate.

He was in Gryffindor Common room.

He shut his eyes and leveled his breathing, gradually recalling how Potter had led him here after their trek across the grounds. The memories were blurry and eerily bled into the terrifying nightmare he'd just woken from.

He shuddered.

The sensation of icy water crushing in around him was still vivid. The darkness engulfing all else and the welling panic that builds when you've gone too long without breath. The desperate climb to the surface against cement-heavy robes. Just the thought of it made him feel sick.

He clenched his fists, trying to tamp down the residual fear. The longer he danced with the reaper the more apparent the truth became.

He did not want to die.

He was planning to murder himself, but Merlin, he wasn't actually suicidal. It was an ill-fated conundrum.

"Hmmg-"

Malfoy's heart practically stopped in his chest as the sighing grunt broke the silence, indicating he was not alone as he'd so easily assumed.

He carefully lifted his head and craned his neck to find bloody Potter fast asleep to his right. The Gryffindor was propped up in an uncomfortable looking position against one of the common room couches hardly a meter away. Potter's glasses had slid all the way to the tip of his nose and his head was rested inelegantly against his shoulder. He would likely have a terrible stiff neck when he woke.

Draco quietly rotated onto his back, cursing his sore muscles and throbbing head, but his new position allowed a better view of The Gryffindor. He watched the other boy sleep for several breaths time, realizing this was the second night he'd found Potter dozing beside him. Both times it seemed the Gryffindor had drifted off while watching over him.

He sighed. Potter really was a bloody good person through and through. He'd offered to help, and unlike Draco's dream-Potter, the real Chosen One had been genuine.

Draco's heart ached as he considered taking Potter up on his offer and crusading for another way out. It was tempting, but believing it possible for anyone to dig Draco from his situation was a rose-colored fantasy and he knew it. Gryffindor optimism was childish at best and delusional at worst. No matter how he looked at it, Draco knew deep down that one way or another, he would still have to die.

With that final cheery thought, Draco pursed his lips together and mentally prepared to sneak out unnoticed like the night before. He was just about to lever himself upright when Potter's body twitched. His head nodded off his shoulder before he started awake with another grunt.

Potter grimaced and rubbed at his neck before pushing his glasses back into place.

"Malfoy?" He said as he spotted Draco's eyes on him. "-Ugh, what time is it?"

Potter rolled back his sleeve and squinted at his watch tiredly. Draco's eyes flicked to the window, estimating about 6 in the morning by the red glow of breaking dawn. Curse his luck. If only he'd woken 10 minutes sooner he just might have escaped.

"Are you feeling alright?" Potter asked, stiffly rising onto his knees and ruffling his hair, mussing it even further if that was possible. The Gryffindor gave him a suspicious look before he could respond, "Wait, please tell me you remember last night. You agreed to come up here, you know,"

Draco groaned and sat himself up gingerly, the blankets falling from his shoulders and pooling around his waist. He rubbed at his temples, "Don't worry, Potter. I'm aware you didn't drug and drag me up here if that's what you're worried about. Though it certainly feels like that's what happened,"

"Thank goodness," Potter said, visibly sagging, "Last night you were not in your right mind. You were saying the strangest things,"

Draco's eye narrowed, "What sort of things?"

"-Er, nothing," Potter said with a flush, "It's not important, anyway,"

On the contrary, Draco was very curious to discover what he'd said to make Potter turn such a shade of red. He was about to press further but he became thoroughly distracted as he noticed his state of dress.

"What in God's name am I wearing!?" He gripped the hem of the thick scarlet-colored sweater and peered down at it, horrified. Draco had a strong suspicion it had been hand-knit by the mother weasel. A great gold-embroidered lion was staring up at him.

Potter burst into a fit.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Draco said, hauling himself to his feet and glowering down at the Gryffindor who was doubled up with laughter.

"I really am," Potter said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Where's my wand," Draco said angrily. He spotted his olive cloak hung by the fire and stormed to it. The fabric was still a bit damp even after setting out all night. He pulled his Hawthorn wand from the pocket and on a whim, stocked over towards the boys' dormitory entrance. That got Potter's attention.

"Malfoy, -hey! Where do you think you're going?" Potter called as Draco made his way up the steps.

"If I've been let into Gryffindor Tower, then I'm going to take a good look around. Know your enemies and all that,"

He could hear Potter's steps pounding up the stairs behind him.

The common room was decorated much like the den. Thick maroon draping spilled from four posters of rich mahogany. Plush area rugs carpeted the floor beneath each bed and iron sconces clutched wooden torches which had burst knowingly into flames at their entry. The word cozy would have been an accurate way to describe it, especially compared to the cold, stone, silk, and silver of the Slytherin Dungeons, but Draco was loath to use a positive word to describe anything Gryffindor.

"Just as garish and tawdry as I'd imagined it," He said instead.

He could feel Potter's eye's on his back as he padded over to the window. The visibility of the grounds was spectacular. The jutting castle's structure thrust towards the skyline while the edge of the lake lay smooth and flat and covered in white. The Quidditch pitch was visible and beginning to glow with encroaching daylight. It looked like a doll's set from their height, small enough to pinch between your fingers.

"You have to admit the view's nice, though," Potter said, coming up beside him.

"It's not bad," Draco admitted grudgingly. It really was a sight to see. They watched the shadows of the Quidditch rings shorten as the curve of the sun finally crested the horizon.

"So, Malfoy," Harry said, clearing his throat, "Would you say we're even now?"

"What are you on about?" Malfoy turned to the Gryffindor only to find Potter standing rather close. Close enough for Draco to notice the brilliant color of his eyes. They glowed palely in the brightness, the color of summer grass, or verdant tourmaline. He marveled at how thick Potter's lashes were, just as dark and full as the hair on his head.

For a split second, Potter's expression mirrored the shocked awe he felt inside. They both broke the gaze at the same moment.

"I'm talking about the debt from you saving my life," Potter said, taking a hasty step back, "In fact, you may even owe me at this point. Between the past two nights, I could argue that I saved your life twice,"

Malfoy scoffed, feeling appalled with himself for becoming captivated by Potter's good looks. Damn him. "You're having a laugh if you think that. I would've been fine without your help,"

Potter looked angry, a satisfying reaction. "Come off it. You can't honestly believe you would've been fine. Especially not yesterday. How in the world would you have hauled yourself from the lake?"

"I had my wand in my cloak, didn't I? I would have found a way,"

"You're unbelievable,"

Draco chuckled, unable to help himself. He stalked away from the window and past Potter, striding over to the get a closer look at the bunks, "Fine, I guess you can say we're even,"

Draco came to a stop in front of what had to be Potter's bed. It was the only untidy corner in the whole common room. It was littered with books and quills and empty Christmas boxes. He picked up a model of the Chudley Canon's seeker, Galvin Gudgeon, from the night stand. The tiny seeker held up his snitch triumphantly as if he'd just won a game.

"What are you doing now?" Potter asked warily as if Draco was a wild animal that might suddenly decide to break the innocent model in his fist. Draco set it down roughly.

"Getting to know you on a deeper level. For example, now I know that you're a complete slob who doesn't sort his socks. I mean, how do you even find anything in here?" Malfoy toed the trunk at the foot of the bed which was spilling robes and shirts and shoes from its mouth. The house-elves must have been appalled.

"And I'm learning that you're even more of a prat than I originally thought,"

Malfoy snorted, undeterred. He continued to paw nosily through the things Potter had left in plain view until his eyes came to a wrapped box half hidden beneath the bed. He bent over and unearthed it.

"You've got an unopened Christmas present here, Potter. Did you know?" He held up the parcel, two separate boxes tied together with blue and gold ribbon. He gripped the little tag between his fingers and read, "From Romilda Vane?"

"Put that down, Malfoy. It's nothing," Harry made a grab for the present but Draco danced out of reach, amused that he'd found something Potter seemed embarrassed by.

"Who's Romilda, Potter? Your girlfriend?" Malfoy asked mercilessly.

"She's not my girlfriend. Give that here,"

"An admirer then?" Draco brought the parcel to his ear and gave it a shake, "Oh sounds like she's got you a box of chocolates. Ten galleons these are spiked with love potion. And how sweet, it's a two-part gift,"

Potter made another grab at the packages.

"Careful, Potter. This box has instructions on it. It says you've got to open it with Romilda,"

"I don't care! It's going straight into the fire," The Gryffindor lunged at him. They struggled for possession competitively, arms becoming laced as they wrestled. Potter was shorter than him, but he was stockier and more muscular, especially considering Draco's admittedly underfed state. It wasn't long before the Gryffindor overpowered him, plowing him roughly onto the bed and finally wresting the boxes away, victorious, but not without damage. The wrapping on the boxes had ripped in several spots and the ribbon sent askew in the fight. The smaller box lid slid off the bed and clattered to the floor.

Both he and Potter peered curiously at the leaf-berried plant which gracefully floated from the parcel and into the air as soon as its restraints were released.

It was mistletoe, Malfoy registered as it came to a stop hovering above their heads, and that was when he recalled the ad flier he'd seen for Zonko's Charmed Mistletoe. What better thing to pair with love-potion-laced chocolates? It took him too long to realize what was coming next.

As if someone had taken hold of his shoulders and thrust him forward, his face was shoved into Potter's. Their lips crashed together like ocean waves on the coast.

It was completely involuntary and impossible to escape.

Shocked green eye's stared into his grey ones, their gaze entirely too close, and then to his horror, Potter's lids fluttered closed. The tip of Potter's tongue skated against Draco's lower lip, a hesitant knock at the door. It must have been the cursed mistletoe, because Draco found himself conceding, parting the way for Potter to slip inside his mouth. Potter was warm and soft and tasted good. God, he tasted phenomenal.

The bed groaned beneath them as they shifted closer.

Potter's hand brushed the side of his face and slid its way behind his ear to tangle through his hair. The nails against Draco's scalp sent every nerve ending on his body dancing.

_Snap out of it!_ Draco cursed as his eyes fell shut and he plunged his tongue past Potter's lips, melting deeper into the kiss. Potter moaned in response and the vibration of it rocked Draco to his very center.

Knowing he'd be doomed if he didn't do something quickly, Draco raised his wand and angled it up at the cursed Christmas decoration.

_Incendio_. He thought.

The mistletoe above them burst into flame as it was hit by the non-verbal spell. The invisible force at Draco's back vanished as the greenery whistled and cried as it was eaten by the fire. He and Potter broke apart like glue giving way.

They were both panting and wide-eyed and might have stayed frozen forever had the flaming mistletoe not fallen onto Potter's shoulder and set his robes aflame.

"Shit," Potter cursed, batting at the live embers clumsily.

"Aguamenti," A large stream of cold water shot from the tip of Draco's wand to drench Potter head to toe. The Gryffindor spluttered and wiped at his face, robes left smoking where the fire had been.

"That was a bit excessive," Potter said, shaking his sleeves as water seeped into his mattress, but Draco was speechless. For once in his life, he couldn't force his mind to form a single snarky remark. He stared at Potter, utterly appalled. They had just snogged, for Merlin's sake.

And what's worse, Draco had liked it. It was bloody fantastic. Add kissing to the list of things the Chosen One was good at. A million and one reasons were turning through his brain as to why what had just happened was completely and absolutely _wrong_. So, so wrong.

"Draco, I mean Malfoy, -wait," Potter said, reaching out a hand as if to stop him. Draco had dismounted the bed and begun back-peddling towards the stairs.

"Stay the hell away from me, Potter," And with that, Draco turned and fled.

* * *

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